


The Beginning's End

by alittlepieceofgundamwing_archivist



Series: Closing Time [3]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Action, Angst, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Guilt, Het, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Infidelity, Lemon, M/M, More angst, POV Alternating, Preventers (Gundam Wing), Rape, Rape Aftermath, Relena's still icky, Self-Esteem Issues, Suspense, Torture, Yaoi, ref. to past 13x5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 16:50:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 116,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14109777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alittlepieceofgundamwing_archivist/pseuds/alittlepieceofgundamwing_archivist
Summary: by Shoori--Six years have passed since the end of the Eve Wars, and everyone has settled into their own routines. But one mistake can shatter a bond...and peace may be the most fragile bond of all...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Dacia, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [A Little Piece of Gundam Wing](https://fanlore.org/wiki/A_Little_Piece_Of_Gundam_Wing), which closed in 2017. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after July 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [a little piece of gundam wing collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/alittlepieceofgundamwing/profile).

" _Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end..."_

\--

"…dear Heero,

Happy Birthday to you!"

I hate that song. God. It has to be the most insipid song in the history of human civilization. How it has survived all of these centuries, when philosophies and ideals and sacrifices and loves have faded and disappeared, I’ll never understand. Moronic sentimentality prevails.

"Make a wish and blow out the candles, darling!"

Speaking of moronic sentimentality…

But that’s not quite fair. Despite all appearances, Relena isn’t moronic, and she certainly isn’t sentimental. Right now, she is - as always - playing a part. Today, it is part number seven - loving wife, adorably besotted with her gruff but ardent husband. That’s a slight variation from number eight - loving but exasperated wife, gently remonstrating with said husband, persuading him to tone down the gruff and turn up the ardent…

"…darling! Wax is dripping on your cake!"

Ah, there it is. Number eight.

I stare, rather stupidly, at the merrily burning candles, which, as Relena pointed out, are beginning to drip wax onto the pristine surface of my birthday cake. Twenty-one candles. I am twenty-one today. At least, Relena decided that today is my birthday. I’d always approximated it before, but she was appalled when she discovered I didn’t know the actual date. So, she chose one for me. Just like she chooses my clothes, and my personal servants, and my daily schedule…

"He’s thinking of a wish. Man in a position like his, must be hard to think of something he hasn’t got!"

A resounding laugh rises as all the other half-wits chortle at the stupid joke made by Montaigne, chief half-wit since Durmail died and Romefeller was officially "disbanded." As they giggle, I finally think of something to wish for, and blow out my candles.

But they have a point. What in the world could I, Heero Yuy, possibly be lacking? I am married to a beautiful, rich woman who is one of the most powerful people in the known world. I live in a huge house, where servants and luxuries and amusements abound. It would seem I have nothing left to wish for.

But I have a wish none the less.

As I watch the smoke drift lazily upward from the huge, ornately-iced cake, my wish pounds again and again and again in my mind, as though perhaps those wispy spirals might carry it upward to be heard by some deity that I have never believed existed.

Ninmu.

It has been so long since I had a mission.

A purpose.

A tie to the reality everyone else lives in.

I wish for an escape from this world I am enmeshed in, a world as false and as sickly sweet as the fat decorative roses covering the surface of my birthday cake.

Apparently, blowing out the candles is something amazing, because everyone applauds. The applause and polite catcalls grow louder as my wife leans down and presses a kiss on my lips. Good Heero. You did the trick. Here’s your treat…

"What did you wish for?" a simpering young lady near the front of the crowd asks.

I stare at her, allowing for one moment the coldness I feel to be apparent in my gaze. "I can’t tell," I tell her slowly, the way I used to tell enemy forces that they were going to die. "I wouldn’t get my wish then, would I?"

"All right, everyone," Relena says brightly, pretending that she didn’t hear this exchange. "Time for the first cut!"

She puts a long, sharp knife into my hand. Reflexively, I shift it into a throwing grip. Almost instantly I relax my hold, moving the knife into a more conventional hold. None of the pampered fools around me notice my momentary aberration, but a few sharper eyes catch on, and I pick out a few muffled snorts of laughter over the noise of the crowd.

I look up and meet Wufei’s amused eyes. He’s standing next to Quatre. Winner’s wealth, and Wufei’s position as a Preventer, assure them both a certain status within this group. I have to crane my neck, though, and look to the very fringes of the group to find the source of the other amused chuckles. They stand there, together, of course, at the very back of the large crowd. I can only see them because noone is standing near them, noone is paying attention to them. They aren’t important enough to merit the attention of anyone here. A circus performer and a free-lance pilot…Never mind that they’re heroes; that they helped save the world. They aren’t worthy of the honor of being acknowledged by these pampered fools. I am separated from them by more than distance. A sharp pain tears through my chest.

_Trowa._

Duo.

How have I done this? How have I allowed them, of all people, to be shoved to the back? Why are they allowing themselves to be treated like this?

I know the answer to that one. They’re putting up with it - with being ignored, sneered at and snubbed - for me. They wouldn’t miss my birthday party.

I know the answer to the first questions too, as to why I have allowed this to happen.

Weakness, as Wufei would say.

Injustice.

Cowardice.

I want to jump to my feet, knock the gaggle of over-bred idiots out of my way, and drag them up to the front. By me. Where they belong. The impulse grows stronger within me. There’s a mission - cleanse my life of hypocrisy, apologize to my friends, and show the ex-Romefellerites what I think of them, all in one fell swoop.

Heat rises to my face as a sense of purpose sweeps through me. I plant my feet more firmly on the ground, my muscles tense in preparation to stand…

…and Relena’s hand descends on my shoulder. "…the first cut, Heero! It’s good luck."

Good luck. The heat fades from my cheeks, and the sense of purpose from my mind. Quietly, meekly, I make the first cut, slicing through one of the tipsy icing roses, gauging the pristine purity of the cake with a long black gash.

After all of the guests have received a piece of my cake, I pick up my fork to eat my own slice. Apparently, I can’t go without sampling my own birthday cake. That would, it seems, be very bad luck indeed.

I wonder irritably if there is any ritual at all associated with a birthday celebration that doesn’t somehow involve accumulating good luck or preventing bad.

I force myself to swallow bite after bite of the cake. Relena had managed to get me a huge piece, complete with two full icing roses.

The roses are pink. The roses - on _my_ twenty-first birthday cake - are pink.

The slab of cake she’s cut me seems never-ending. It seems that with every bite I take, there’s that much more. The cake itself tastes dry, and the icing is so intensely sweet it makes my teeth ache. I scowl, annoyed with myself that I even feel so insignificant a pain.

Somehow, this stupid wedge of cake has taken on the character of a mission for me. I _will_ finish it. It _will_ be gone. Every last crumb _will_ be devoured, if it kills me.

And it just might.

Finally, I win.

The cake is gone.

I am the victor.

Well, that’s just great. I can defeat my birthday cake.

I am losing my mind.

For the last several minutes, Relena has been tugging on my sleeve, trying to get me to go and mingle with "my" guests. I’ve been ignoring her. That’s harder than it sounds, but it’s easier with practice. Especially in public, where she has to make it appear that she’s not nagging me and that I’m not ignoring her. She hates it.

Actually, it’s kind of fun.

That’s the only type of pleasure I get. Annoying my wife, and battling my birthday cake.

You know, there are people that envy me.

But once the cake has been vanquished, I finally allow her words to penetrate my consciousness. She’s right - I do have guests I want to greet.

I rise to my feet and start to move through the crowd. My sudden movement startles her, and for a moment, I am moving alone through the crowd.

My instant of freedom doesn’t last though. Some fool steps into my path, grabs my hand, and pumps it furiously while stammering out some facetious birthday greeting.

I glare at this obstacle in my way. But it’s too late - he provided the rest of the vultures an opportunity to gather. Relena is back at my elbow, and dozens of people are pressing in, shoving each other out of the way to offer me congratulations and suggestions for alternate celebrations, to seek my opinion on current political issues, and the weather, and if the newest fashion is flattering to their figures, and the same bland inanities that constitute all of their conversations.

Years ago, I would have shoved them out of the way and continued. A little earlier, with the heat of a mission warming me, I just might have done the same. But now, somehow, I’m trapped. I hear my voice mechanically repeating thanks, smiling slightly at the more risqué suggestions as Relena blushes behind me, assuring some "former" earl that I do in fact believe that Une should continue in her role with the Preventers, agreeing that it is a fine night, and hoping it doesn’t rain later. It’s when I hear myself, as though from far away, assure a young woman that puce does complement her complexion that I am shaken from my fog. Puce?! What the hell is puce?

Abruptly I turn and murmur into Relena’s ear. I almost shove past her, and exit the ballroom. She’ll make some excuse for me - she’s good at that sort of thing. I just need to get out of that room, out of this building.

I exit one of the back doors, into the gardens. Even after all these years, I instinctively make no sound as I move. Some habits are hard to break.

Blindly I make my way out, into the gardens surrounding the palace I find myself living in. I wander until I come to a low stone wall, built at the top of a small hill overlooking a smaller lake.

Actually, it’s a pond. But it’s in the wrong place for a pond, so it’s a lake.

Don’t ask me. Relena said it’s the wrong place for a pond. I wasn’t aware that there were rules governing pond placement, but it seems that there are.

I sit on a bench directly in front of the wall and lean forward, resting my elbows on the smooth stone and my head in my hands.

There are rules governing everything. What to wear, what to say, what to do…how to feel when wearing and saying and doing. How to talk to your wife, how to look at your wife, how to make love to your wife…

I wince.

Of course, the foremost rule there was that you had to _want_ to make love to your wife.

"Hee-kun!"

I jump, startled, and see Duo and Trowa standing beside me in the moonlight. I start to move over, but before I can, Duo plops down on one side of me, and Trowa sits calmly on the other.

"I didn’t think there was a chance we’d get a word in tonight, birthday boy! You’re the man of the hour today," Duo teases.

I grimace, not speaking.

"Are you enjoying your birthday?" Trowa asks politely, a little smirk on his face.

I look back and forth between them, staring into the laughing violet eyes and the serene green ones. It’s funny. Trowa still has that overhang of hair, but somehow these days it’s always pushed to the side enough that you can see both of his eyes. He doesn’t hide any more. And Duo…he’s still loud and laughing and bouncy, but the frenetic edge that characterized his moods and actions before is gone. The _need_ for exuberance has vanished - his vitality and happy air are genuine, now.

Peace has been good for them.

But, no. It hasn’t been peace, or at least, not just peace. It’s each other. Duo and Trowa have healed each other. I wonder what they would do for…

Suddenly, I realize that I haven’t spoken since they sat down, and they’re both frowning confusedly at me. I also realize that they’re both sitting very close to me within the confines of the small bench - I feel the brush of their legs against each of mine, and for once I’m thankful for the bulky folds of the prissy Sank clothes that have been foisted on me.

"I’m sorry," I manage. "I was….I was thinking about something else. What did you say?"

Trowa stares steadily at me, his eyes narrowing. "I asked if you’d enjoyed your birthday," he repeats mildly.

I laugh, and I can hear the bitterness in it. I stand, and move to face them, perching on the stone wall. "Oh, it’s been great," I say sarcastically.

Duo is frowning at me. "You…you sure got a lot of presents!" he says with forced lightness.

I sigh, bowing my head to rest my chin against my chest. "Yes," I agree, in a subdued tone. "Yes, I got a lot of presents."

There is silence. I peer up at them, not lifting my head, and observe them. They’re frowning at each other, and as I look, Trowa lifts one shoulder slightly, in a gesture of confusion. Duo tilts his head back toward the palace, an inquiring look on his face. Again, Trowa lifts his shoulder. Duo responds with a scowl of impatience, an expression which brings a slight smile to Trowa’s face as he nods toward Duo, then jerks his head toward me.

A hot feeling burns through me as I watch them silently communicate, sweeping through my body and leaving me feeling cold in its wake. This isn’t the first time that I have experienced this feeling in their presence, but it’s the first time that I’ve been able to put a name to it.

I’m jealous of them.

I’m jealous of their closeness. Jealous of how they can have a conversation without saying anything. Jealous of that connection that they have to another person.

Isn’t that how it’s supposed to be when you’re married? Why don’t Relena and I relate that way?

I pull myself to my feet, and my sudden movement startles them. They look inquiringly - and a little guiltily - at me.

"I have to go back into the party," I tell them. "I just left Relena with everyone."

Duo smiles at me, and I see the relief in the expression. He approves of the concern I’m showing toward my wife - it shows that I care about her, and that our relationship must be ok, and that he has been worrying needlessly about me.

See. Trowa isn’t the only one who can talk to Duo without words. Of course, of we two, he is the only one who isn’t silently lying.

 _But it won’t be a lie for long_ , I resolve silently to myself. I will heal this breach that has grown between me and Relena. That will be my mission. I will make this marriage work.

Firmly deciding on this course of action, I bid farewell to Duo and Trowa, and head back to my birthday party.

_____________________________________

I lean back against the worn upholstery of the car seat, and can’t stop a small sigh from escaping.

Trowa shifts his gaze from the road, his calm green gaze meeting mine for a moment.

"Is something wrong?" he asks quietly.

I sigh again. "Not really," I say vaguely.

"You’re worried about Heero?"

It sounds like a question, but it isn’t. After three years together, Trowa can read my mind like one of those cheap paperback mystery novels that are his secret passion. He reads them all the time, in constant search of one whose ending he can’t guess by the middle of the book. When he finds one where the solution eludes him, you’d think he found gold. It’s then worthy of being stored in the bookshelf built into the headboard of our bed.

He’s a really weird guy, sometimes.

If you’d have told me in my wild youth that I would be shacked up with a guy who keeps detective stories in the bed shelf rather than the Kama Sutra, I would never have believed you. If you’d have told me I’d be liking it, I’d have believed you less.

But I do like it. I more than like it.

I’m shaken out of my little sparkle moment by a pointed cough. He thinks I’m eluding his question.

"Sorry…I was thinking about…something else," I tell him, deepening my voice on the last two words.

A faint smile crosses his face, but he keeps his eyes steadily on the road. "Uh-huh," he says, his tone disbelieving. But the little smile is still on his face.

I grin, and settle back in the seat. "Ok. Yes, I’m worried about Heero," I declare. I look over at him, and the smile is gone.

"Didn’t he seem weird?" I demand.

Trowa nods slowly. "Yes, he did seem…weird," he agrees slowly. Somehow, I have a feeling he’s talking about something different than I am.

"I mean, he wasn’t enjoying the party."

Trowa smiles again. "Neither was I, for that matter," he points out mildly.

I make a sound of impatience. "But he should have been enjoying it," I insist. "It was his birthday party!"

"But is it his birthday?" Trowa asks.

I shrug. "Hey, there’s a one out of three hundred sixty-five chance that it is," I say. "It’s as close as our guesses."

Trowa and I have assigned ourselves birthdays as well. Well, I did most of the assigning, after a long, studious perusal of many astrological and numerological sources. It took me forever, and I just about drove Trowa nuts analyzing our personalities and reading aloud to him from books with titles like _Moon Signs for Lovers_. But now, we have carefully researched birthdays of our own. We’re even astrologically compatible. I checked.

"I just find it a little strange," Trowa muses, "that his birthday happens to fall exactly four months before their wedding anniversary and four months after her birthday."

I stare at him, frowning, for a long moment before I understand what he’s saying.

"You mean she gave him a politically convenient birthday?" I manage after a moment.

Trowa shrugs lightly. "Seems awfully neat and tidy, doesn’t it?"

"You mean," I stammer, outraged, "She didn’t even try to match his sign? Didn’t think about his being a cusp? Didn’t even take name numerology into account?"

The smile is back, more pronounced this time. "I’ve never been convinced that name numerology should be a factor when working with code names," he comments.

"It’s the name you go by that matters," I respond automatically, still absorbed in my indignity over Relena’s thoughtlessness. Doesn’t she want to know his real birthday, so she can compare star charts?

"Poor Heero," I mutter.

Trowa makes a non-committal sound. The smile is gone again.

After a few moments of silence, he pulls the car into the lot behind our apartment building.

"Maybe we could look in some of those old books and see if we can find…," I begin, my mind still on Heero.

He unfastens his seatbelt and turns toward me. His face is shadowed, his eyes unreadable in the dim light.

"I can think of a few things that I’d rather do than look up Heero Yuy’s ascendant," he breathes huskily, seconds before his lips meet mine.

It’s unusual for Trowa to kiss me anywhere that’s not completely private. It’s hard for him to be physically affectionate in front of other people, although he has no trouble at all when we’re alone. So, even as I eagerly return the caress, I’m surprised.

But not as surprised as I am moments later, when I find myself on my back in the back seat of the car, moaning his name as he presses into me.

The question of Heero’s birthday and astrological sign might as well not exist. The last coherent thought that passes through my mind before reason is lost in a white hot haze of pleasure is that if this is how Trowa is going to behave after boring parties, we have got to go to more of those.

_____________________________________

"Heero! Not now!" Relena shoves against my chest, trying to dislodge my arms from where they have settled around her as I nibble on her ear.

"Why not?" I mutter, determinedly moving my lips down her neck. "Don’t I get a birthday present?" I am determined that this night will see the beginning of a real relationship develop between me and Relena. The resolution I made, the mission I accepted while in the gardens with Duo and Trowa will see its beginning here, in this bedroom, now.

She huffs in irritation. "I’m upset with you," she declares firmly.

I lift my head, frowning at her in confusion. "What for?" I ask bluntly.

She rolls her eyes. "You weren’t very polite to your guests," she informs me sternly.

This is not what I expected. "What?"

"You know, Heero, some of them think you don’t like them."

I shrug. "Well, I guess they’re right. I don’t like most of them. Do we have to talk about them now?" I finish, pulling her closer to me and lowering my lips to her neck again.

"Heero!" she twists in my arms, pulling away from me. She crosses her arms over her chest and glares at me. "They’re very important people. We need to keep them as our allies. Do you understand what could happen if there were a rift among them?"

I scowl. "I don’t really want to talk about them," I say, moving toward her.

"Can’t you control yourself long enough to have a five minute conversation?" she snaps.

Humiliation spears through me, as it so often does in Relena’s presence. Her callous little insult stops me cold in my tracks. I stare impassively at a spot two inches above her left ear as she lectures me. I don’t hear any of it, but I don’t need to. I already know most of her complaints.

I don’t know what I thought I was doing. I thought I could build a relationship like the one that Trowa and Duo have between me and Relena? We don’t have what they have; we never did. We have the same thing we’ve always had, the same thing we always _will_ have.

Nothing.

"Heero?"

I lower my glance slightly so I am staring into her eyes.

"All right?" she asks, her brows slightly arched.

Ah, my cue. Though I haven’t heard a word she’s said in five minutes, it’s easy to pick up on my expected response from her tone and expression.

I nod briefly. "Very well," I say quietly.

I’m rewarded with a sunny smile. "I knew you’d agree, darling," she whispers, gliding toward me. I mechanically, reflexively, open my arms and she slides into them.

"And now," she whispers huskily, "What were you thinking about a few minutes ago?"

I want to scream at her, push her away, hit her. I do none of those things. I lower my head like an obedient consort, and kiss her.

How does she do this? Why do I follow her lead like this? What is it about her that compels me to comply with her every wish?

I don’t know. It isn’t love. I’ve realized that tonight. I don’t love her. I never did. I never will. What’s more, she doesn’t love me either.

So why do I do this? The question resounds in my mind even as I lower her to her back on the bed, as I caress her body, as I move inside her.

It isn’t love.

Respect? I don’t know. I respect her ideals, but not her methods.

I don’t know. I don’t know why I do this.

She doesn’t make me feel good.

She moans beneath me, shifting her hips upward. I increase my pace, trying to bring her over the edge.

God. Even in this, I’m responding to her unspoken orders.

She makes me feel gauche in company.

She makes me feel useless in business.

She makes me feel like a whore in my own bed.

She screams, arching upward. I feel her muscles spasm around me, feel my lower body jerk as I empty myself into her. My mind registers no pleasure, though. I feel totally detached from the act I have just performed, from the woman beneath me, from the release my body has just experienced.

I feel nothing.

I collapse to the side of her, and roll onto my back. I hear her breathing slowly return to normal, and she curls up against my side. Absently, I put an arm around her. She shifts so that her cheek is pillowed against my chest and yawns widely.

"You’ll remember our earlier conversation?" she asks sleepily.

Sometimes, I am still shocked by the cold determination of this woman. Sex with me was just a lull in her lecture. She is one of the most single-minded people I have ever known.

"Yes," I say coldly, not caring if she hears the anger in my voice.

"Good," she murmurs, dropping a light kiss on my chest. Seconds later, she’s asleep.

And no wonder. She’s got what she wanted. She’s done.

She’s done.

We’re done.

I’m done.

__________________________________________

"Excuse me, sir."

I look up and scowl at the poor, innocuous servant who has somehow drawn the unenviable job of relaying messages back and forth between me and Relena. In the weeks since my birthday, since the failure of my mission, the situation between me and my wife has become increasingly tense. I’ve been a bad boy.

From the panicked look on the servant’s face, I gather that Relena has decided to discipline me, and this man is the one who has to tell me about it.

Typical.

I snarl a wordless reply, and the man blanches, turning even paler than he already is.

I don’t know why the servants all react to me like this. They’re scared of me. In over three years in this…place, I’ve never even shouted at one of them, yet they all scurry around nervously, tripping over themselves to get out of my way, generally acting as though I’m going to blow at any second. Relena pitches fits on a regular basis, but they’re all fatuously devoted to her. People make no sense.

"Sir…? Lady Relena would like you to come see her, sir."

I grunt noncommittally and lower my eyes back to the document on my desk, disregarding the man in front of me. I sense him shifting nervously, feel his discomfort, but easily ignore it. I’m busy. The one important thing that I do with my life is assist with administering the Preventers. I’ll be damned if I get dragged away from that to cater to Relena’s stupid whims.

"S..sir?"

I return my gaze to the quivering servant. I allow my head to snap up quickly, an unspoken gesture of annoyance, and see the gesture register in the cringing bearing of Relena’s flunky. Useless.

"Lady Relena _really_ wants to see you now, sir."

I’ll just bet she does.

"Tell her I’m busy," I say curtly, lowering my head again.

Three weeks ago, I’d have sighed, heaved myself to my feet, and meekly trotted down the winding corridors to Relena’s office. What a difference a few weeks makes. The habit of defiance grows easier the more it is practiced. Too bad I didn’t remember that lesson of my colony days a little earlier.

"L..lady Relena said to tell you it was urgent."

I look up and glare at the persistent man. "If it’s that urgent, she can come see me," I tell him flatly.

This time, I think he’s blanching at the thought of Relena’s reaction at being given such a message, rather than at my own intimidating presence.

"S..she said it’s about Lady Une’s replacement," he falters.

This time my head snaps up in shock, rather than in a calculated attempt to frighten the servant. "Lady Une’s replacement?" I repeat, hearing the hard edge in my own voice.

"Lady Relena says there are changes that need to be made in the Preventers, sir, and thought you would like to be informed of th-…"

The man breaks off, gasping in shock as the word that I spit out to describe my wife. I don’t stick around to observe his further reactions to my bit of sacrilege against the saintly Peacecraft; I have a few more words for her that I’d like to share with her face to face.

I burst angrily into her office, slamming the heavy door shut behind me. She looks up calmly from the papers she is perusing, crosses her hands on her desk, and looks up at me with her best inquiring face on.

"So nice of you to agree to stop in," she murmurs.

"Why are you replacing Une?" I ask harshly, coming to a stop directly in front of her desk, standing as close as I can, forcing her to crane her neck to look up at me.

This little psychological ploy is foiled by her deluxe desk chair - she leans back in the elaborate leather thing and suddenly she’s reclining, and I’m stupidly looming. Damn!

"I haven’t replaced Une…yet," she says slowly.

"That simpering idiot you sent down to my office said you had replaced her."

A frown mars her impassive features. "Gerald - my personal assistant - was supposed to tell you that I wanted to _discuss_ replacing Une," she corrects smoothly. I can detect the note of annoyance in her voice, though. She doesn’t like it when I point out how useless all the people she surrounds herself with are. I think she picks useless people on purpose, so she herself can seem brighter and more efficient by comparison. It makes me worry about my own intrinsic character sometimes.

Not too much, though. I’m the anomaly, the one chosen on emotion rather than calculation. The one who, therefore, is the weak link in the chain. The one who must be broken, be controlled.

She’s controlling me now.

"Why are you even considering replacing Une?" I ask, matching her even tone. I’m not fooling anyone. She feels the anger radiating from me. She just doesn’t care. She’s one of the only people in the world who isn’t afraid of me. I would respect her for that - I used to respect her for that - until I realized why she felt way. It isn’t that she’s brave, it’s that she believes that I am not strong enough to be a threat.

She pauses for a moment, putting on the pose of delicately considering her words. I know it’s an act - she scripted this encounter days ago.

"I don’t know that she’s working out," she says finally. She has a masterful grasp of the vague.

"Is this about the mobile suit issue?" I ask flatly.

Score one for me! She actually scowls - I have succeeded, if only for an instant, in breaking the diplomatic facade with an honest reaction. Call the press.

"Of course not," she insists coldly. It is, though.

Less than a week ago, there was a huge debacle when Relena insisted that we needed to destroy the mobile suits that remained from the last war. The Gundams, of course, are gone. I feel a familiar pang as I think of my last glimpse of Wing, crumpled and smoking in a pile of rubble. However, many less evolved suits, mostly leftover from OZ, remain as a safeguard against any insurrection or rebel attack.

Relena insisted that they all had to be destroyed, to prove the sincerity of our new government toward the cause of peace. Une maintained - and I agreed with her - that such an act would be monumentally foolhardy, at best. Publicly destroying our only major means of defense would be tantamount to issuing an invitation to any terrorist group to attack us.

Une’s disagreement with the plan, combined with mine, was enough to sway the vote. It was one of the first issues in three years that didn’t go Relena’s way. She was quietly furious. She didn’t speak to me for an entire day, furthering fueling my already growing impulses to defy her whenever possible.

Now, however, it seems that she isn’t going to let this go.

"Relena, she is the only one who can lead the Preventers. We need her to bring all of the pieces of the organization together," I explain, trying to remain calm.

Relena waves her hand vaguely. She knows all of that as well as I do. She must have some reason, some reason beyond even the mobile suit issue, for pressing this ridiculous idea.

"Who do you plan to replace her with?" I ask.

She shrugs negligently. "I was considering Montaigne," she says idly.

I gape at her. "Montaigne?" I sputter after a moment. "Montaigne couldn’t find his own ass with both hands; you think he’s going to find a way to successfully run the world’s first pacifist police force?"

"The Preventers aren’t a police force," she says automatically, even as she frowns at my vulgarity.

"Montaigne can’t run the Preventers," I insist forcefully.

"At least Montaigne can be trusted to work with me," she shoots back acerbically.

"What are you talking about?" I ask in exasperation.

"Well, you and Une seem to feel of late that I don’t need to be considered when it comes to Preventer matters," she says, her voice laden with hidden meaning.

I go still. Suddenly, I know. I know why she’s threatening to replace Une, why she even suggested that ridiculous idea about the mobile suits in the first place. Why didn’t it strike me as strange that we now, suddenly, have to prove the government’s sincere desire for peace by destroying our weapons? It was a trap. And I walked right into it.

"Is that really what this is all about?" I ask quietly.

"I beg your pardon?" she asks icily.

"I haven’t been dancing to your tune, jumping when you say jump, so you’re going to punish me by replacing Une?" People used to think - sometimes still do think - that Relena is innocent and naïve. She’s no such thing, but I’m starting to wonder about me.

"Don’t be ridiculous," she snaps.

"How exactly have you justified that in your mind?" I ask conversationally. "Your husband is annoying you, so you jeopardize the safety of billions of people in order to show him who really wears the pants in the family."

‘Sometimes the monstrousness of your ego amazes me, Heero Yuy," she hisses. Her famous deportment has left her; her face is pale except for two red spots high on her cheeks, and in her eyes, I see the emotion that I knew she truly feels for me. Hate.

It’s no wonder. She married me with absolutely no idea of who I was, who I am. She didn’t have to know - it didn’t matter. Her intent from the beginning was to mold and change me into the man she wanted. When I proved reluctant to be changed, I became the only thing in her little world that didn’t bend over backwards to appease her. What a thorn I must be in her side.

Still, it’s a little disconcerting to realize that your own wife despises you, even if you’ve begun to discover that you feel similarly toward her.

I laugh bitterly. " _My_ ego," I marvel. "You’re one to talk."

She sneers at me. "Just because you’re jealous of my position-"

"Jealous of your position?" I repeat. I shake my head slowly. "Relena, you truly have no idea." I turn my back on her, intent on getting out of her office as soon as possible.

"Where are you going?" she demands. I hear the whisper of the expensive leather and the hiss of the aerodynamically engineered springs of her chair as her weight is removed from it. "We aren’t finished."

By this time I’ve reached the office door, but I stop and turn to face her. She’s standing, with her hands braced on the surface of her wide desk.

"Yes we are," I say slowly.

"What are you talking about?" she demands, her eyes narrowing.

I spread my hands expansively. "Why, we’ve nothing more to discuss," I say, in a bitter parody of innocent understanding. "I understand that I have over-stepped my bounds as Imperial Consort, and that if I step out of line again the world will suffer for my insolence. Now you have no need to fire Une and plunge the world into chaos - the disobedient Heero Yuy has gotten the message, and waits eagerly for the opportunity to obey your every wish."

Sometimes I underestimate Relena. I’m sure that she managed to grasp the sarcasm inherent in my last speech. I guess I didn’t have to underscore the point by kicking her door open, rather than using the latch.

I wonder what she’ll tell the guy who repairs it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> by Shoori

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from Dacia, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [A Little Piece of Gundam Wing](https://fanlore.org/wiki/A_Little_Piece_Of_Gundam_Wing), which closed in 2017. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after July 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [a little piece of gundam wing collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/alittlepieceofgundamwing/profile).

Pleasure.

Intense, electrifying, amazing pleasure.

It’s all centered in those hands, moving over my body, and that mouth…God, those lips, that tongue…

I can’t think…can’t reciprocate…can’t do anything but absorb these amazing sensations…

I hear myself moan, and run my fingers through Duo’s hair, holding onto him, trying to keep myself anchored in reality, to prevent myself from being swept away on this current of sensation…

I’m getting close…so close…almost…

Brrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiinnnng!!!!!!!!!!!

I jump slightly, but can’t be jarred from my state of arousal by the telephone ringing shrilly on the bedside table.

Duo’s lips are wrapped around me, and I feel rather than hear the slight noise of irritation he makes. The vibrations send another wave of pleasure through me, and I grip his hair tighter. In return, he increases the pressure his lips are applying to my most sensitive area, enabling me to ignore the second ring of the phone.

Brrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiinnnng!!!!!!!!!!!

I don’t care if God himself is on the line - he can wait. I raise my hips, trying to get even closer to the warm, wet cavern engulfing me. This is the most amazing feeling in the world. I love this better than almost anything else. Duo is so gentle, so enticing, so wickedly skilled…he makes me feel ministered to, treasured, important. Never, with anyone else I’ve been with, has there been so much focus placed on my pleasure. Even after three years, it still amazes me every time he does this.

Brrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiinnnng!!!!!!!!!!!

Duo increases the tempo of his motions, moving faster and more firmly upon my flesh. My hips move with him, matching him, striving for release…

Brrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiinnnng!!!!!!!!!!!

Click

"Hey! This is Duo and Trowa. We can’t come to the phone right now…"

Duo chuckles against me. I moan aloud, tugging on his hair, encouraging him to continue.

"…as soon as possible! Bye!"

Beep.

"Duo? Trowa? Are you there? This is Relena."

Duo and I groan together, but, I think, for different reasons.

"I know you’re there! Pick up the phone!"

Duo mutters something. I think it’s an uncomplimentary adjective describing Her Serene Majesty, the Queen of Sank. I don’t really care…just as long as he continues…doesn’t stop…

"Pick up the phone right now! I mean it!"

I ignore the petulant voice on the phone. Finally, finally…my eyes are screwed tightly shut, but I start to see flashes of gold behind my eyelids…

"It’s Heero! He’s missing! You need to find him, he could be…"

With a startled gasp, Duo rises up quickly and grabs the phone, ignoring my half-roar of pained protest.

"Relena? What do you mean he’s missing?"

He listens for a moment, then sighs theatrically. "That’s what the answering machine is for, Relena…I was…Geez, I picked it up, didn’t I? Quit complaining!" he orders, holding the phone out and scowling at it.

I roll groaning onto my side, burying my face in the pillow. If he doesn’t get off the damned phone I swear I won’t be responsible for my actions.

"I assume you wanted something other than to bitch at me for not picking up the phone," he snaps. Despite the incredibly agonizing position I’m in at the moment, I manage a half-smile. Duo’s the only one who dares talk to the Queen like that. She never knows how to deal with it.

"How long has he been…Shit, Relena! And you’re just now looking for him? That was twelve hours ago!"

He listens for a moment, rolling his eyes in irritation. "Yeah, yeah. Did you have a fight?"

He yanks the phone away from his ear and I hear Relena’s voice raised in shrill indignation.

"Well, I thought that this was the night for intrusive personal questions," he growls into the receiver.

"Fine…Fine! We’ll go look for him. Don’t get your panties in a twist."

Even he doesn’t dare wait for the fallout from that one. He slams the phone down before Her Majesty can recover from her shock to reply.

He leans back on his heels to stare down at me. Please no, Duo. Don’t tell me that…

"We’re going to have to pick this up later, Tro-chan," he says ruefully, reaching down to brush his knuckles against my cheek. "Heero’s missing. Noone’s seen hide nor hair of him since ten-thirty this morning."

"Duo," I manage to grind out between clenched teeth, barely able to speak, "you can’t leave…I can’t just…"

He grins evilly, his eyes darting down to rest momentarily on my straining erection.

"We’ll have to take care of that when we get home," he half-promises, half-threatens.

"I’m not going anywhere until…"

"Duty calls," he sighs. "I’m worried. Heero doesn’t just disappear in the middle of the day…"

"Damn Heero," I mutter petulantly. "If he’s been gone that long, a few more minutes…"

"Come on, Tro," he interrupts, reaching down and grasping my hand. "Time to get dressed."

"I don’t believe this," I say as he pulls me to my feet. I really don’t. I don’t believe that I am expected to just…turn it off because I have to go chase down Heero. He’s a grown man. Let him take care of himself.

I cross the room and enter the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind me. I turn on the water in the sink, and splash handfuls of the chilly liquid onto my body, ignoring how it splatters all over the bathroom.

"I don’t believe this," I repeat, staring at my agonized reflection. "Heero runs away from home, so I have to suffer. Relena’s got more people in that palace than there were in the Rebellion army. Why can’t _they_ go…"

"Quit pouting," Duo orders cheerfully as he opens the door and throws my clothes at me. He grins as I turn to glare at him, his eyes running over my body, maliciously noting the water streaming down my skin, brightening as he confirms that the water hasn’t had much effect.

"At least I’ll know that you’ll be wanting me all night," he purrs, darting in to drop a quick, teasing kiss on my lips.

"Five minutes!" he calls over his shoulder as he bounces from the room.

I stare at my reflection again. I can see the smoldering irritation in my own eyes; did Duo miss it or just ignore it?

Heero had better be dead, I decide as I begin to carefully towel myself off. No, I amend, I won’t wish him dead. I just hope he’s hurting, hurting as badly as I am right now. If he’s not, he will be, I promise silently. He will be.

_____________________________________

"Heero?"

Blearily, I raise my glance. I didn’t really expect anyone to be addressing me by my first name here. The people I’d met earlier were all gone or sleeping by now, and this didn’t seem like the place that anyone I knew would frequent. That’s why I came here.

At least, I didn’t expect to see anyone when I came in. Suddenly, though, it doesn’t seem that odd that people who know my name are here.

"What the hell…what are you doing here?"

I blink at Duo, trying to get a fix on his face. That’s strange - there seems to be two..no, three…or maybe just two…at any rate, there’s several more Duo’s than there should be. A trio of Duos? Ha.

"Did he just _giggle_?"

Who’s that? I turn my head toward the other voice. Turning my head is supposed to be easy. It doesn’t work like it’s supposed to, though, and suddenly my chin is buried in my chest, and I can’t see who’s talking. That’s funny too.

"He did. He just did it again. Damn it, Duo, he’s…"

I hear Duo making a shhing noise at the other person. That guy doesn’t sound happy. But why does Duo get to make all the noise? Perfect Soldiers don’t make noise, that’s why. But Duo was a damn good soldier, and a better pilot than me, and he makes noise all the time. Damned if that’s fair.

Damned if they’ll shush me. I’ll shush ‘em right back.

"SHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"Um, Heero? What’re you doing?"

I lean back in my chair, so I can see him. I lean back a little too far, I think, because my body keeps going when my back hits the back of the chair. My neck snaps back, and all of a sudden I’m looking at the ceiling. It’s not a very nice ceiling, as ceilings go. It’s cracked and there’s water stains on it, and there’s a few very dusty glass light fixtures clinging precariously to the old plaster. Nope, not a very pretty ceiling. Relena wouldn’t have it in the palace. That thought makes me angry. It’s a perfectly good ceiling! It’s been through a lot! Floods and…and… rain and…and…bugs and whatever else ceilings must endure. And it’s still there, doing its best, keeping people dry, taking the punishment whenever there’s a thunderstorm or a leaky pipe…and it wouldn’t be good enough for the Sanc Palace.

"Bitch!" I shout. "You’ll take that ceiling and like it! ’S a perfa’cly good ceiling and-"

"Heero!" A face moves above me, cutting off my view of the ceiling. I squint, trying to see who it is. The face moves closer, and its long overhang of hair brushes my face, tickling my forehead. Oh. Trowa!

"You tell ’er, Trowa!" I shout up to him. Surely Trowa will support me on this. He doesn’t have Wufei’s preoccupation with justice, but he knows what its like to be judged on appearances. Together, we will gain justice for this ceiling.

"Tell who what?" Duo asked this question. He’s joined Trowa, and he’s blocking my ceiling too, but I don’t mind. They’re the only two people in the world who could block my ceiling and not upset me. I feel myself smile. They’re my best friends.

I see Duo’s face break into a grin, and Trowa shake his head. "Man, you’re crazy tonight," Duo tells me. "Yelling one minute and grinning like a fool the next. What’s up with you?"

Duo’s words remind me of my mission, and I sit up in the chair. Things are precarious for a moment, but I manage to remain steady. Everything’s a bit wobbly tonight. "Duo," I say seriously. "Trowa." I look back and forth between them, trying to gauge their degree of dedication. "Duo. Trowa."

"Yes, Heero?" Trowa is regarding me with a somewhat irritated expression on his features. I scowl at him. The irritated look is better than that closed, blank look he used to hide behind before he got together with Duo, but I still don’t like it. Nope, don’t like it at all.

"Don’t look at me like that," I order.

Better. Now he looks surprised.

"Like what?" he ventures.

"Like this." I scowl as hard as I can, lowering my brows fiercely and pressing my lips out as far as I can, imitating the look Trowa had just bestowed on me.

A roar of laughter on my other side breaks my concentration. "God!" Duo gasps between chortles. "I promise you, man, Trowa has _never_ looked like that."

I frown at him. "You know what I mean," I accuse.

Trowa, shaking his head, wraps his hand around my arm and begins tugging me to my feet. "Come on, Heero," he says. "We’re taking you home."

"Like Hell!" I reply vehemently, pulling my arm from his grasp. I look away from the penetrating green gaze, and my eye falls on the table in front of me. My beer is empty. My shot glass is empty.

"I need another drink!" I shout. "Waitress!"

"I don’t think so," Trowa says firmly. Duo drops into a chair next to me. Duo will never turn down a drink. I turn and smile approvingly at him. He looks rather startled.

The waitress approaches the table. She’s a rather worn-out looking woman, who works nights at this bar to earn extra money. I heard all about it before - she was excited when she recognized me. "Whatcha need, honey?"

"Three of those," I tell her, pointing at my empty shot glass. I don’t remember exactly what it was - some earth liquor that tasted like Gundam fuel, the drinking of which involved a complicated and bizarre ritual.

"No," says Trowa firmly. The waitress ignores him, and wanders back toward the bar. "Bring the bottle!" I shout after her.

"We aren’t doing shots, Heero."

"Like Hell we aren’t!" I roar. Why’s Trowa trying to ruin my fun? I glare at him. "We _are_ doing shots, and then…" I stop and frown at them. I’ve lost my train of thought. Oh! "And then," I continue, "I am telling you about something important that _mus’_ be done!"

"Well, I have to hear this," Duo interjects. "One shot won’t hurt, Tro-chan." The stubborn line of Trowa’s mouth softens as he looks into Duo’s smiling eyes, and he nods reluctantly.

"One shot," he says.

The waitress comes back with three full shot glasses, a few other objects for the drinking ritual, and a half-full bottle. Duo turns the bottle so he can read the label, and groans. "Oh, Hee-kun," he mutters. "Not tequila."

"’S what the guys at the bar recommended," I tell him seriously.

"What guys?" Trowa interrupts, frowning. I smile at him - he’s worried they’re bad men - soldiers or agents or something. Nothing more serious than paparazzi hounds me anymore.

"Them," I clarify, waving vaguely at the indistinct shapes slumped on the barstools, their heads collapsed on the bar.

"Did you knock them out? What the Hell’s going on?" Poor Trowa. Now he sounds confused. But the accusation has me indignant.

"I didn’ knock ’em out! They got…tired." I shrug. I’d thought it a little rude when they all went to sleep, but…

Duo chuckles again. "I bet they did," he says. "Were you drinking this, Heero?" he asks, gesturing to the bottle of tequila.

I nod.

"How much?" he asks.

I shrug. "Some," I reply. "I had to learn to do it right."

"I bet," Duo replies wryly. "Who paid for all this practice?"

I chuckle. "Relena," I say. Funny, I never noticed it before, but that names _sounds_ evil. Like a disease or something. I say it again, drawing it out, feeling a gloomy relish in mouthing the distasteful syllable. "Ree-leee-naah."

Duo raises an eyebrow at me. He’s always been able to do that. I never could - they both go up.

"It’s on a tab," I clarify. "To be sent to the Palace, care of the Queen."

"Does Relena know she’s paying for you to get ass-drunk?" Trowa asks over Duo’s chuckle.

I scowl at him again. What’s wrong with him tonight?

"What’s wrong with you tonight?" I demand belligerently.

Trowa scowls back at me and opens his mouth to reply. Duo lays a restraining hand on his arm. "Nothing, Hee-kun," he tells me calmly. "He was just…sleeping when we got the call. He didn’t get much sleep last night, so he’s a little cranky about being woken up."

"I’m not cranky," Trowa mutters - crankily.

‘The call?" I ask, ignoring Trowa.

Duo hesitates, looking away from me. I peer suspiciously at him I didn’t spend so much time with him during the war and at boarding schools and so on without learning to tell when Duo Maxwell is trying to avoid something.

"What call?" I press.

"Relena called us," Duo finally tells me, reluctantly. "She said you left mad and hadn’t come back and…"

"Bitch!" I shout again, this time at the top of my lungs. "I slip the leash for fifteen minutes and she’s calling my friends asking where I am? What am I, ten years old?" I jump up, intent on rushing out of the bar, running back to the palace and waking Relena up to tell her a thing or seven about herself. I’ll start with her bad attitude, and go from there.

My mission is foiled again, though, this time by the floor. It must be poorly maintained at this hole-in-the-wall bar, because something weird happens to it when I put my full weight onto it. Maybe the tiles or the boards beneath them are rotting; all I know is that as I stand up, it suddenly and inexplicably moves, knocking me off balance and sending me crashing to the ground.

"Damn you, Floor!" I bellow, struggling to sit up as I stare at the chipped and dirty tiles with all the intense hatred I now feel for them. "Mission Failure!"

"What are you talking about, man?" Duo asks as he bends over and pulls me up. He deposits me back in my chair and fusses over me, making disgusted noises as he dabs inefficiently at spots on my shirt that are the souvenirs of my battle with the demon floor.

Trowa sighs, shaking his head as he looks at me. After a moment, a reluctant smile crosses his face. "You’re starting to worry me, Hee-chan," he tells me in an amused tone, using Duo’s favorite nickname for me. "First you were babbling on about the ceiling, now the floor. Are you leaving the Preventers and becoming an architect?"

I’d started to smile at him, relieved that he seemed to be leaving his grumpy mood behind. When he mentions my earlier mission, though, I gasp in shocked remembrance. How could I have forgotten? The ceiling - it’s still there, waiting for justice!

It must be the floor. It’s using the ceiling for its own selfish purposes - it doesn’t want the ceiling to get its just due. Damn floor!

"My mission!" I shout, trying to jump to my feet again. This time I’m foiled by Duo, who unceremoniously shoves me back down as I try to rise. He’s not gentle about it either.

I glare at him. "You hurt my butt," I accuse, shifting in my chair.

Duo starts to laugh, and within seconds he’s howling. He drops into a chair himself and lowers his head into his hands, shoulders shaking. Even Trowa chuckles, the skin by his eyes crinkling as he grins at me.

I laugh too. Noone can resist Duo’s laugh, and I’m fascinated by Trowa’s. You don’t often hear Trowa laugh, even now. He looks really…nice. He looks…young. Trowa never looked young - he’s always been the oldest of us. That makes me sad. Trowa _deserves_ a chance to be young. Trowa deserves a lot. He’s…well, he’s…

He’s noticed me staring at him, I guess, because his grin fades. "Well, Heero, are we done?" he asks, in a seeming reversion to his cranky mood. There’s no heat behind the words this time, though.

I shake my head firmly. "The mission," I remind them. "It must be accomplished."

Duo grunts in exasperation. "Forget missions, Heero," he advises, straightening up in his seat. "You don’t need them anymore."

I stare at him, unable to find words. Forget missions? Has even Duo forgotten - forgotten the importance of the mission? Without one, you are nothing. There is no focus, no direction…no need for a soldier who has no mission.

After a moment during which I stare into Duo’s eyes, willing him to remember, he groans and breaks the stare. "Hee-kun, you’re making me tired," he groans. "Why don’t we just have our drink and go home."

Our drink! Instantly, my dismay at Duo’s seeming lack of remembrance vanishes. Here is another mission - teach Duo and Trowa the proper tequila ritual!

"Ok," I say, draping my elbows on the table. "First, you fill the shot glasses with the tequila."

"Got that part," Duo says, firmly taking the bottle out of my hand and filling the glasses with the pale yellow liquid.

"Then, you lick the back of your non-dominant hand, here," I continue, suiting the action to the word, wetting the back of my hand between my thumb and my wrist with my tongue.

"I’m not licking my hand," Trowa states flatly.

I scowl at him, again. It doesn’t have any effect. Duo nudges him with an elbow. "Just do it," he says softly. "Make him happy."

"Yeah!" I growl. "Make me happy."

Duo looks slightly startled. Apparently, he’s forgotten a lot lately. He’s forgotten the importance of missions - I push this thought away before it can dim my mood again - and he’s also forgotten how good my hearing is.

Trowa rolls his green eyes but acquiesces, licking his hand in the proper place.

"Now you sprinkle salt on the wet spot," I go on, beginning to feel the excitement of a plan falling into place.

I hand them the salt shaker and they do so, Trowa very pointedly not saying anything in the very loud way that only Trowa can.

"You take the shot glass in the opposite hand from the one you licked," I instruct, lifting my glass, "And hold the lemon slice between your thumb and index finger of the salted hand."

Rather tentatively they comply, looking at me expectantly, just waiting to be informed of the rest of the ritual. I beam at them, pleased that they will be performing this ceremonial act with me.

"Quit smirking, and move it," Trowa orders tersely.

He’s eager to experience the rest of the ritual. I nod quickly in understanding. "Ok, now. The process is _lick_ , _slam_ , _suck_."

"Well, isn’t that special," Duo drawls. "Right here in the bar, Hee-chan? What will the waitress think?"

I snort impatiently at him. "No, baka. _Lick_ , you lick up the salt on your hand; _slam_ , you swallow the drink; _suck_ , you suck on the lemon. Got it?"

They nod, and Trowa begins to move his head toward his hand. "Wait!" I shout, stopping him mid-motion.

"What?" he barks.

"There needs to be a toast," I remind him.

His loud sigh is partially drowned out by Duo’s question. "What do you want to drink to, Hee-chan?"

I stop for a moment, to think. This is an important part of the ritual, I have been assured. The men at the bar - those who taught me this ceremony - drank to women, to the desired disappearance of jobs and bosses, to money, to me for buying drinks, to each other…But this needs to be better. This can not be a wasted toast.

I have it. I raise my head. "Ok, I toast, then we perform the ritual together. Got it?" They nod, and I lift my glass.

"To endings!" I cry loudly. I perform the ritual, relishing the different sensations - the saltiness, the shock of the liquid fire that is the alcohol, followed by the cold sourness of the lemon. I like this ritual because it is like battle - you fight the enemy one way, then confound them with something completely different and unexpected, then completely demolish them by concluding with yet another unforeseen attack. Predictability is the greatest enemy of the attacker, complacency the strongest foe of the attacked.

I slam my shot glass down on the table, blinking as the liquid burns a path to my belly. Duo’s glass follows mine, then Trowa’s.

"That’s rank!" Trowa sputters, wiping his mouth in disgust.

"You paid money for that?" Duo demands, continuing to suck on his lemon.

I grin at them. "You’re both making tequila faces," I say sagely. "That’s a sign of weakness."

"Oh, really?" Duo bristles, responding to unspoken challenge. "Well, let’s just try this again, Mr. Tequila Stud, and we’ll see who’s weak." He lifts the bottle, and begins to refill each glass.

"Hold on," Trowa demands, leaning forward to stop Duo. "We agreed, one drink and then…"

"We need to do another one anyway," Duo interrupts. "We’re not ending the night with a toast like that. ‘To endings?’ What kind of crap is that, Heero?"

"It’s not crap," I mutter, staring at the table. The lighting in this bar is so strange. They must have one of those old strobe light things, that makes objects appear to move of their own volition. The table seems to be moving up and down, closer and further away from me. I smack it with my hand in irritation, trying to get it to stop.

"Heero!" I jump, startled, and look up. Yup, definitely the light. Duo’s doing the same thing.

"The last thing he needs is another drink." Trowa’s voice seems to be coming from farther away than it should be. I frown at him, confused. Maybe it’s a trick he learned in the circus, throwing his voice. An odd time to be practicing his act, though.

"One more," Duo says firmly, pressing the glass into my hand. "We need to do another toast."

I ready myself for the ritual, and stare expectantly at Duo, waiting for his toast. "Here we go, Hee-chan," he says, staring at me intently. "This one is for new beginnings - what always follows endings."

I sneer at his chintzy toast, but perform the ritual anyway. I slam my glass down on the table and stare intently at the rings of wetness on the grimy surface of the wood. Damn lighting - the table looks like it’s moving again, coming closer and closer and….

 _Ouch_! What is it, a damn earthquake?! How did this happen?! I feel the wood under my cheek, the hard surface, wet from beer and tequila and lemon, pressing against my face. I brace myself, waiting for more tremors.

"Heero? What are you doing? Are you awake?" Duo’s voice. Why isn’t he heading for safety?

"It’s an earthquake, baka," I mutter into the table. "Go to a doorway. Safest place."

I hear a low rumbling sound. Must be a pretty bad one. A moment later, Duo has grabbed my arm and pulled me up. That’s Duo for you - always thinking of his friends before himself.

"Don’t worry about me!" I insist, pushing at him. "Save yourself!"

"There’s no earthquake, Heero," he assures me, pulling me to my feet and sliding my arm over his shoulders. "You are just stinking-ass drunk, my friend."

"I am not!" I protest, trying to pull away. I don’t succeed, and my efforts are further hampered when Trowa moves to my other side, pulling my free arm over his shoulders.

"Yes you are," Duo disagrees, as he and Trowa shepherd me outside and into their car. "It’s ok, it happens to everyone once in a while. We’re going to take you home, and you’ll sleep it off, and be fine in the morning."

"Where are you taking me?" I demand, clutching Trowa’s shirt as they deposit me in the backseat.

"Home," he says quietly. "To the palace, to your bed, so you can sle-"

"Forget it!" I shout, shoving at him. "Lemme outta this car! I refuse to go back to that place…"

"Heero!" Duo bellows. He’s come in the other door and is sitting next to me, on the seat. He reaches out and takes my chin in his hand and stares intently into my eyes. Their car is parked right under a street light, so I can see him pretty clearly. "What’s wrong?"

I can see the concern in his violet eyes. I feel a strange pain in mine, like I’ve gone too long without blinking. "I don’t want to go to the palace," I say lamely.

"This isn’t like you," Trowa says softly from my other side. I turn to look at him. He’s crouching in the open door, and his head is actually lower than mine. The same expression that was in Duo’s violet eyes are in his intense green ones. "What’s happened, Heero? What’s got you so upset?"

I stare back at him, trying to formulate an answer. "Relena," I finally reply succinctly.

He makes a sound that might have been a laugh, but that is distinctly lacking in humor. "I see," he says slowly. He looks past me, and I know he’s looking at Duo. They’re doing it again, I know they are, the talking without words thing. I feel a pang of jealousy so sharp that it actually physically hurts. I wish I knew which of them I was jealous of.

"Ok, Heero," Trowa says, unaware of my inner turmoil. "Why don’t you come sleep on our couch tonight? It’s a fold-out and they’re always amazingly uncomfortable, but it’s better than the table in the bar."

I turn my head, looking back and forth between them. "You don’t mind?" I ask uncertainly.

"Of course not!" Duo says cheerfully. "Now," he continues, drawing away and pulling me down into a reclining position, "just lay back and relax. It’s a bit of a drive, so we’ll wake you when we get there."

They move to the front and I feel the rocking motion of the car as Trowa pulls it out into the street. They’re talking, and I can’t hear what they’re saying, but the low murmur of their voices is so soothing, that I soon feel myself drifting off to sleep, feeling, for once, safe and protected.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> by Shoori

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from Dacia, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [A Little Piece of Gundam Wing](https://fanlore.org/wiki/A_Little_Piece_Of_Gundam_Wing), which closed in 2017. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after July 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [a little piece of gundam wing collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/alittlepieceofgundamwing/profile).

My lips pursed, I stare at the darkened, silent base. Slowly, I lift my hand, and press the large button on the edge of the detonation device.

Instantly, the base is no longer silent or dark. It’s a flaming inferno, a mass of flying shrapnel, a tumultuous cacophony of exploding metal and the cries of the dying.

"Mission accomplished," I mutter, as I turn my back on the chaos I have wrought.

Suddenly, I hear a noise that doesn’t belong. Wheeling around, I see that one of the giant mobile suits has withstood the explosion, but was knocked off balance. It falls and hits another, which crashes into the gate surrounding the compound. The gate wasn’t made to withstand such damage and it gives, sending the mobile suit crashing down on a civilian apartment complex.

A civilian apartment complex. The bastards built it there on purpose - built it as a human shield to guard against enemy attack; anyone bombing the base from above ran the risk of taking out thousands of innocent civilians.

That apartment complex is the reason I had to infiltrate that base myself, lay the charges myself, set off the explosion myself.

I determined I would not kill the innocent.

All those people dead, because of me.

I have relived this event so many times that I realize even in the heat of the action that it is a dream, but I am powerless to stop the course of events from unfolding.

The flames are out. The surviving soldiers have gone. There were no survivors from the apartment complex.

None.

The area is utterly abandoned. All that is left are charred debris, scraps of waste that used to be buildings, and machines, and people.

I wander into the wreckage of the apartment building. Lying discarded among the rubble is a teddy bear. Its fur is scorched and stained. Innocence destroyed.

Close by lies one of the two things I most dreaded finding. Even in the dream, I feel the shudder that runs through my body. I feel something wet on my face and I look up, hopeful that this time - this one time - I am being allowed some kind of release, being granted the permission to express my grief. But this time, as every other time, the moisture is just snow, melting on my cheek.

Duo told me once that he had been taught that rain was tears wept by angels, grieving over the sins of man. What, then, is snow? It’s proof that even the beings that are supposedly representative of divine mercy are, essentially, cold. Frozen. Unfeeling and unmoved at the suffering of humanity.

I bend, and pick up the lifeless body of the puppy. Yesterday, it ran and barked and played with its owner, a little girl who asked me if I was lost and gave me a flower.

As I have done a hundred times before I turn my back on the wreckage and walk away, unable to bear the thought of what I might find if I continued my search.

I start to walk away, but stop abruptly as something appears before me.

This is new.

I stare at the figure, unable to believe my eyes. It is the little girl! She’s alive. She’s escaped the wreckage of the explosion, the explosion I caused.

"You’re…you’re…" I stammer, unable to voice the though, afraid that it might be a cruel hoax.

I was right.

She shakes her head. "No, oneesan," she chirps, her voice as bright and cheerful as I remembered. "I am dead."

I blanch, almost dropping the puppy.

"I am dead, and so is my dog," she informs me, gesturing to the dog in my arms. "And my mother and father, and grandfather, and my brother, and…"

"Stop!" I blurt, closing my eyes in anguish. This is too cruel. "I’m sorry. It wasn’t supposed to be that way. None of the civilians were supposed to…"

"How was it supposed to be, then?" she asks sharply. Her voice is different, but familiar, and I raise my head to frown at her. My wife, Relena, now stands before me, staring in disgust at the wreckage surrounding her.

"Is this all you’re capable of, Heero?" she asks scornfully.

"It is what I was," I tell her. "I am no longer. Now I protect…"

"The innocent?" she asks, disbelief apparent in her tone as she smiles sardonically at me. "Like me?"

"Relena, I tried," I tell her desperately. "I wanted to protect you, to keep you from…"

"Protect me." She laughs bitterly. "You protect me by tying me to a monster; a murderer?"

I wince. The body of the dog is growing cold in my arms. "Relena, it isn’t like that. I…"

"See them, Heero?" she demands, gesturing behind her. A crowd of indistinct shapes has somehow formed, pushing and clamoring to advance, advance on me, but Relena’s outstretched hand keeps them back. "They are the people you’ve killed. Are you proud of this? See how many there are. You’re a true warrior," she finishes, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

My gaze sweeps the crowd. There are soldiers there, yes. But there are women, old men, children. The innocent victims of my actions. I see a mother with a baby. An old couple holding hands. A teenage boy who looks very like…

I can’t face this any more. I turn to run, but can’t move. I try to drop the dog, but I can’t. I can only stare at the vast sea of the dead, the dead who died at my hands, can only…

"Heero. _Heero_."

I come awake with a start. I glance wildly around, unable to recognize my surroundings. My mind shifts to the familiar checklist: apparently captured, holding indoors, dark; body unbound, injuries minimal to non-existent…

"Heero."

My eyes jerk to the sound of the voice. Duo. Companions: pilot 02, condition; conscious…

"Heero, wake up." He grabs my arm and shakes me, and things click into focus. I still don’t know where I am, or why I feel so strange, but I know the war is over and I haven’t been captured.

"You’re in my and Trowa’s apartment," Duo tells me, apparently aware of my disorientation. "It’s about 4 am. We’ve only been back about an hour and a half. You were having a nightmare."

A nightmare. God. Unconsciously, I reach out and grab Duo’s hand, the hand still resting on my arm. He jumps a little, startled. I don’t generally initiate physical contact.

I feel very strange. Maybe I’m still in the dream. The room is fuzzy and unreal, covered by a strange haze. The bed beneath me and the blanket over me feel unsubstantial. The only thing that seems in any way solid or substantial is the hand in mine and the concerned eyes staring at me in the dim light.

"Do you want to talk about it, Hee-chan?" Duo is asking me hesitantly.

I shake my head no; I don’t want to talk about it. I really don’t. So I can’t understand why my mouth opens, and the words come tumbling out.

"It was the base. The one that went wrong where the apartment building was destroyed, where the little girl with the dog was killed. And she was there, Duo, but she was dead. She told me I killed her, and her family…Then she was Relena, and she called me a murderer, and they were all there, Duo….God, there were so many Duo, so many…"

I’m physically shaking by the time my incoherent babble winds down. Some section of my mind is screaming at me to knock it off, get a grip, quit making an ass out of myself. It’s ordering me to send Duo back to bed, and go to sleep like a sensible person.

But Duo reaches out and puts his hand on my back, gently pushing my head onto his shoulder, giving me the option to pull away if I want.

I should.

But I don’t.

"It’s all right, Hee-chan," he murmurs. "We all have those dreams."

"You do?" I ask, pulling back slightly to look at him.

He nods. "Yes," he says soberly. "I do. So does Trowa."

"Trowa?" I repeat, surprised. Trowa always seems so collected, so fatalistic about everything we’ve done. I can’t imagine him having nightmares about it.

"Yes," Duo assures me quietly.

I think for a moment. "What do you do when you have one?"

Duo chuckles richly. "That’s not generally the kind of thing you like hearing about, Heero," he tells me, amused.

I pull back and look at him, stare into his smiling eyes in the dimness. I need to shut up. I will not speak. I will lay back down and…

"So, show me," I blurt out.

Never have I seen such an amazed look on Duo’s face. "What did you…" he begins.

I don’t let him finish. I could never repeat it, never face myself if that inquiry were thrown back at me. Impulsively, I throw myself across the distance separating us, and press my lips to his.

He stiffens momentarily, but Duo is at heart a sensualist. His mouth shapes itself to mine almost of its own volition, and he’s kissing me back.

I never knew kissing could feel like this.

Suddenly, he pulls back. "Hee-kun, stop. You’re drunk, and…"

"Duo, please," I say harshly. "Please don’t leave."

He stares at me, surprised at the stark need in my voice. My mind shrieks at me to shut up, that I am going to despise myself eventually for behaving in this manner. At the moment, I don’t care. I need human contact, need someone to touch me with tenderness if not with love, the way I have never been touched before.

"Heero, I’m not leaving you. But you’re drunk, and I don’t want you to be angry or to regret…"

"I won’t," I interrupt. "I won’t. Duo, I need…" But I can’t say it.

So I show him. I kiss him again, and I feel the exact moment when his resolve breaks. He takes control of the situation and pushes me back on the bed, looming over me, covering me, shielding me.

My mind floats away as I lose myself in a cloud of sensations created by Duo’s hands on me, Duo’s mouth caressing me…I feel a sudden, unexpected pain, followed by pleasure the like of which I’ve never experienced. I feel Duo on top of me, feel rather than hear him moan into my mouth, feel him stiffen above me and feel his release within me. Then I feel nothing as my own body seems to explode with pleasure, and I sink into a darkness where there is no feeling, no dreams, no pleasure or pain, where finally I can rest, untormented by the deeds of my past.

______________________________________

Light. I press my eyes more tightly closed, but it’s still there. Glaring, blinding light, battering at my eyes even through the protective covering of my eyelids. Light, waiting to assail me the moment I surrender and allow my eyes to open.

I won’t do it. I reach down, intent on finding the blanket to pull it up over my face, and my hand comes in contact with warm, bare skin.

Warm, bare skin isn’t necessarily a strange thing to find in my bed. Warm, bare skin covering hard, tightly-stretched muscle is, though. This is definitely not Relena.

Forgetting the looming threat of the light, I open my eyes. The first thing I see is a pair of amused violet eyes thoughtfully perusing me.

"Morning," Duo says mildly, smiling at me. "Do you feel awful?"

"My head feels like someone parked their car on it," I say thickly. I can’t seem to talk right - my tongue feels like it’s glued to the roof of my mouth.

"Do you have a headache?" Duo asks. "Feel like you’re going to be sick to your stomach?"

I pause, carefully evaluating the areas he mentioned. Finally, I shake my head in the negative.

Duo makes a small noise of exasperation as he props himself up on his elbow and stares down at me. "Well, you deserve to," he says firmly. "As much tequila as you drank, you ought to be out of commission for a week."

I don’t really hear much of the scolding, as the full impact of the events of the night have finally dawned on me. Duo is in my bed, very naked. I’m not exactly clothed. And…fleeting memories are returning to me - feather-light caresses, hot kisses, the sensation of skin on skin…the….good God.

I must have blushed, because Duo breaks off his lecture and grins down at me. "So, you do remember?" he asks wryly.

I nod stupidly. "I don’t know how I could forget," I manage, awkwardly.

Duo’s smile gentles. "Are you ok?" he asks. "I didn’t want you to be angry or upset this morning."

If my face gets any hotter I’ll qualify as a solar energy plant. "I’m not," I manage. "Not for me. That is, I’m ok, if you are."

"I’m ok, you’re ok," Duo quips, letting himself fall down on the bed so he’s lying pressed against my side.

"But what about…I mean, is this really ok?" I flounder. I’m way out of my league here.

Duo frowns. "Are you asking if we’re still friends?" Once again, he rises on his elbow. This time he reaches down to touch my face, pushing my hair aside. "Hee-chan, do you really have to ask?"

"That isn’t precisely what I meant," I mumble.

Suddenly, the door connecting the living room with the bedroom opens abruptly, and Trowa steps out.

Both Duo and I freeze, swinging our faces toward the sound. For a moment, Trowa doesn’t see us. He’s barefoot, wearing only a plain white T-shirt and a pair of faded blue jeans. He’s intent on zipping up the jeans, so he doesn’t notice what’s before him. He straightens up, pushing aside his mass of hair in the same movement. Only then, does he notice us.

For an instant he just stares, uncomprehending. Duo pushes himself into a sitting position and jerks frantically upward on the blanket, and Trowa’s eyes follow the movement of his hand, as if that movement will supply some obvious but unseen explanation. As he realizes what has happened, his mouth falls open in shock, and he almost stumbles backward, his spine coming in contact with the doorjamb. He leans back against it, apparently needing the support as he continues to stare at us.

I’ve never seen such an unguarded expression on Trowa’s face. Shock, horror, then - worst of all - a look of painful confusion chase each other around his face as he looks at the bed with its crumpled coverings, at my bare chest, at Duo’s chagrined face peering over the blanket.

For a moment, his eyes meet and hold mine. I want desperately to look away but I can’t; trapped, I can only stare deep into the emerald gaze, unable to supply the denial he wants so badly to see. All there is for him to see in my eyes is shame and regret for the sorrow I am causing him.

His gaze moves to Duo, and again he fails to find what he’s looking for. He looks back and forth between the two of us, as if still unable to believe what he’s seeing. His mouth is still open in his silent shock. His eye falls to the bed. When he sat up so suddenly, Duo had braced his hands on the bed to push himself up; one of his hands had come down on mine. I’d been too shocked by Trowa’s sudden appearance to move away. Trowa’s piercing gaze rests on our two seemingly joined hands.

I jerk my hand away but it’s too late. Trowa is shaking his head from side to side, still trying to deny what he’s seen. He looks up again, and I can see his eyes. I will never forget the bewildered, lost look in them at this moment. The green eyes that are usually calm, or shimmering mildly in amusement, or lilting sardonically are unnaturally bright, gleaming with…No. Not Trowa.

Duo sees it too, and moves instinctively as though to comfort and explain. "Trowa, no. It’s not…"

He stops as Trowa waves one hand to harshly cut him off. In an instant, as though the spoken words had broken some kind of bonds holding him in place, the vulnerability and pain are gone from Trowa’s expression. His back is still pressed against the doorjamb, but his arms move up and fold languidly across his chest. The carefully blank look that he hasn’t worn in years smoothes itself over his ravaged features. He shakes his head, and his long flow of hair settles over one side of his face, feathering down to reach his chin, covering half his features from view. Trowa Barton, Gundam Pilot 03, stares woodenly back at us.

The transformation is uncanny. It’s as though a completely different person now occupies the body that stepped out of the bedroom door a moment ago. I wonder - suddenly and illogically - if that’s what my Perfect Soldier face looks like.

"Trowa, don’t look like that," Duo blurts suddenly. He’d been unusually quiet for a moment there - perhaps he’d been affected by the same paralysis I had.

"No need to concern yourself," Trowa says, his voice as flat and cold as the look in his eyes. "My apologizes for interrupting." Abruptly he turns and moves back into the bedroom.

"Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit," Duo swears furiously under his breath, struggling to free himself from the tangled sheets. "Don’t worry, Hee-kun," he mutters, shooting a quick glance at me in the midst of his litany of profanities. "It’ll be ok."

Before he’s managed to free himself, though, Trowa has re-emerged from the bedroom, a leather jacket pulled over his shirt and neatly tied sneakers on his feet. He moves determinedly toward the door, not sparing a glance for us. He’s better at that than me. When I’m purposely ignoring someone or something, I always feel that I’m behaving ostentatiously; like I’m making a show of _not_ looking at them. Not Trowa. We might have been on another planet for all you could tell from his expression.

"Where are you going?" Duo calls urgently, yanking in frustration at the imprisoning covers as Trowa crossed the room. "Trowa? Trowa!" he shouts as the door closes quietly behind the other man.

"Well, fuck," Duo mutters under his breath, staring at the door. He seems to remember me, and turns his head to give me a somewhat forced smile. "Don’t you wish he’d just slam the damn door? It’s really freaky when he does that man of steel thing."

"Does he do this a lot?" I ask. Maybe Trowa’s behavior switch isn’t as atypical or frightening as it seemed to me.

Duo’s smile falters. "No," he says somberly. He looks as though he wants to say more, but just shakes his head, at a loss for words.

I knew it. Not only can I not manage to control my own relationship, but now I’ve messed up the best, most caring relationship I’ve ever seen, the one that I wish mine could be, the one I’ve envied…

A sick feeling, totally different from the one Duo felt I should be suffering earlier, suffuses my body. Is that what I’ve done? Did I deliberately set out to ruin what Duo and Trowa have, because I’m jealous of them? What kind of rotten human being would do something like that to his best friends…

"Heero." Duo’s voice breaks my reverie. "Don’t worry, Heero. It’ll be ok," he assures me again.

I raise my eyes to his, unable to hide my own misery. "Duo, I’m sorry," I begin.

"Don’t even say it!" he interrupts firmly. "One, you didn’t exactly force me, and two…you didn’t exactly force me." He grins, and it’s almost convincing. "Trowa’s just…surprised. He’ll cool off, and I’ll explain, and it’ll be fine."

He’ll explain. He’ll explain to Trowa that it was just a pity fuck, poor Heero stuck with Relena…he needed something to make him feel better. It didn’t really mean anything at all.

I feel even worse than I did before.

"Yeah," I mutter, pushing the blanket down to my waist and reaching for my clothes.

"And Heero," Duo says quietly, reaching over to grab my arm.

"Yeah?" I mumble, not looking at him.

He says nothing, waiting. I break first and look up at him.

"I enjoyed it. Very much," he says softly. "I don’t regret it, and I don’t want you to."

I nod jerkily. Of course Duo’s going to say that - even when his own world is crumbling - because of me - he doesn’t want me going away upset.

I should know better than to do this kind of thing. Ever since I can remember, I have never improved or created anything. I have only destroyed. Now, all I can do is hope that I have not destroyed Duo and Trowa.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> by Shoori

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from Dacia, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [A Little Piece of Gundam Wing](https://fanlore.org/wiki/A_Little_Piece_Of_Gundam_Wing), which closed in 2017. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after July 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [a little piece of gundam wing collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/alittlepieceofgundamwing/profile).

_Tick_.

Tock.

 _Tick_.

Tock.

In this era of technological advancement, you'd think they'd make a damn clock that didn't make those annoying sounds.

 _Click_.

Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrm.

And refrigerators with _quiet_ compressors.

I jump almost out of my skin as a car horn blares loud and impatient on the street outside.

Swearing, I bound up off the couch and begin to pace around the room - the _empty_ room. I don't know why these little noises are bothering me so much. I never mind noise. I _like_ noise. I make noise - too much noise, or so I've been told.

But I know why they're bothering me.

I shouldn't be able to hear them.

Oh, stupidness again. It's the middle of the day. Trowa would be at work, even if he weren't…

Well, there's the problem. Where _is_ Trowa?

He should be here. He should come home and yell at me, or refuse to speak to me or mope around and make me feel like a guilty shit. He could come home and punch me in the fucking _head_ and I wouldn't care - as long as he came home.

Ok. Getting too upset. Trowa will be home soon, and then we'll work it out.

I didn't mean to hurt him, I really didn't.

I just…didn't think.

I stop in front of the mirror we have hanging by the door and scowl at myself. _I don't think that excuse will work, Maxwell_ , I silently warn my reflection. ‘Oh Trowa, so sorry that I cheated on you, I just didn't think you'd mind.'

Yeah, that'd just go down like porn in a nunnery.

But I didn't cheat on him, not the way he thinks I did.

Ok: yes, I had sex with Heero. Technically, when you are in a committed relationship, sex with someone else constitutes adultery.

But…it was _Heero_. Heero's my buddy. He was the first of the Gundam pilots I'd met. My first friend in a long, long time. And last night…God, he was so damn miserable. I've never seen him that way. I've never known him to ever ask another human being for comfort like that.

What was I supposed to do, reject him? I can't imagine the effort it took, even drunk as he was, for Heero to make that move.

He needed to be touched. So I touched him. That's _all_.

My reflection looks skeptical.

I groan aloud and resume my restless pacing. I love Trowa. Mind-boggling, toe-curling, stupid-grin inducing love. I would cut off my pinkie toe (and very attached to my pinkie toe I am) before I would do anything to purposely hurt him. He has to know that.

So when he gets over the shock of the moment - and it must have been very shocking, I realize uncomfortably - he'll come home and we'll talk about it.

He'll be unhappy for awhile and I'll feel like an ass for awhile. But we'll get over it.

I'm so preoccupied with my musing and my pacing that I don't hear the door open. I glance up and Trowa's just there. His sudden appearance startles me so badly that I remain still, all my prepared speeches faltering on my tongue.

My eyes meet his for the briefest of instants before he turns away. What I see makes my worry of the past several hours (4 hours and 23 minutes, to be precise) seem like nothing. It's not that the look in his eyes is angry, or sad, or accusing. I don't see love or hate or betrayal in them. I see nothing.

This morning, when he went all zero-three on me, it really freaked me out. Trowa never does that anymore, _never_ with me. That look was his mask, his protection from people and forces that want to hurt him, entities that he hates or fears. If he's turning that look on me, that means he thinks I'm…an enemy.

After that brief moment of eye contact he turns away, moves quietly into our bedroom and closes the door firmly but silently behind him. I'm left standing with my mouth open, ready to apologize to the damn door.

He didn't say a single thing to me. Walked right past me. Didn't even acknowledge my existence.

I start to feel angry. Ok, I fucked up. He's mad at me. He could yell at me like a normal person, or call me bad names or stamp around the house and break things. But I can't deal with this silent treatment bullshit.

I glare at the door. You know, this is crap. We're supposed to be partners. You don't just freeze out your partner when you have a disagreement.

If he won't yell at me, I'll yell at him. _Someone's_ going to yell in this apartment before long or I'll know the reason why!

I stamp over to the door and yank it open. Part of my mind is warning me that I'm being illogical, that a good offense is not the best defense in this case and that I'd be better off giving Trowa a little space right now to deal with this his way.

My mind tells me all this. Nothing wrong with my mind.

If only I listened to it once in a while.

"All right, Trowa, come on," I snap as I stomp into the room. "Cut it out, already, and talk to me about…."

I abruptly forget the rest of my incredibly idiotic diatribe when I see what he's doing. He stiffens for a moment, then continues with his task as though I weren't even there.

"What the Hell…What are you doing, Trowa?" I demand. My voice actually cracks. This is bad. This is very, very bad.

He ignores me, continuing his movements. Back and forth. Across the room. Dresser to bed to closet to bed to dresser…

"Trowa?" I demand again. I hear the hysterical edge in my voice.

Still, he doesn't answer me.

"God damn it, Trowa, what the hell are you _doing_?" I shout, this time shoving myself right into his path back from the closet to the bed.

He stares at me with those dead eyes. There's not even a flicker of life or emotion in them. "What does it look like?" he asks flatly before moving to pass me.

I turn and stare at him, watch him neatly fold the shirt he just fetched from the closet and lay it in the nearly-full suitcase on the bed.

"Trowa, you can't be serious," I plead. "Trowa. Trowa!"

It is really starting to infuriate me that he won't talk to me. I wish he would say something. Anything!

"Trowa, what's happening? Where are you going?"

He moves past me again. Turns his back on me. Again.

Rage bubbles up in my throat. I reach out and grab his arm, jerking him backward, pulling him around to face me. He doesn't resist, just stands and stares passively at me as I hold his arm in a crushing grip.

"Trowa, please. Where are you going?"

Nothing.

"Is this about this morning?"

A flicker.

"Look, Tro-chan, it's not what you…"

Reaction.

"Don't call me that," he orders harshly, trying to pull his arm out of my grip. I hang on tighter.

"Trowa, listen to me. It's not…"

"What is it then, Duo?" he demands coldly. "Were you sleepwalking?"

"Trowa, Heero just needed-,"

"Yeah, I bet," he interrupts stonily, finally managing to pull away. He stalks over to the suitcase and closes the lid, zipping it up around the edges.

"Trowa, you're over-reacting," I begin. "This isn't something to…"

He turns around so quickly I barely see the movement. "Overreacting?" he repeats, his voice quiet but tinged heavily with incredulity. " _I'm_ overreacting? I find you in bed - _naked_ in bed with _Heero Yuy_ \- and _I_ am _overreacting_?"

I scowl back at him, feeling anger begin to take the place of the panic that's been filling me for the past several minutes.

"If you would just listen to me and not make snap judgements…"

"There's nothing you can say that will change what I saw - what you did," he says unrelentingly, staring at me as though waiting for me to challenge that statement.

"What, do you own me now?" I demand, angry at this cold condemnation. "I can't…"

The angry look recedes from his face, replaced yet again by that damn blank mask. "You can do whatever you want to, Duo," he says dully, his voice betraying the barest hint of weariness. "I can't…I _won't_ stop you."

My anger melts, leaving behind only the guilt and fear it had been sheltering me from. "Trowa, you _know_ that I would never…"

"All I know is that I am not going to stay on as second best," he interrupts, turning back to the suitcase.

I frown at his back. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I probe, confused by this latest turn in the conversation.

Trowa turns and looks at me. The mask is wavering - his features are still calm, impassive even, but his eyes are starting to betray the tumult raging behind them.

"If I were honest with myself, I would have always known that I'm just second best to you," he begins

"Trowa, what are you…" He lifts his hand, silencing me.

"You couldn't have him, so you took me instead. I always knew it, but I thought that maybe…After such a long time, I thought that maybe I was wrong. Maybe I was just paranoid."

"You were," I say bluntly. "You are. How could you think that I only chose you because…"

"Please, Duo," he asks, without heat. "Don't do this anymore."

"Do _what_?"

He answers my question with another one. "When did we first get together, Duo?"

"Three _years_ ago, Trowa," I remind him. "We've been together for three-,"

"But where did it happen? Where did it start?"

I frown at him. "Well, it was at…"

"Heero and Relena's wedding reception," he finishes heavily.

"So what are you saying?" I ask, scowling. "That…"

"That Heero was then officially unavailable, and you had to look elsewhere, so…" He spreads his hands, evidently indicating the elsewhere I looked.

I shake my head disbelievingly. "Trowa, how can you think that…"

"How can I not? You don't try to be with me until Heero's out of the picture. Then, not even a day after you find out that he's probably going to be available again, you're in bed with him."

The mask is crumbled. He really believes this nonsense, really believes that I've only been with him because there was noone better around. What have I done - or not done - to make him so unsure of me?

"Why do you have so little faith in me?" I ask him quietly, allowing the hurt I feel to be heard in my voice. He stares at me, his hurt finally visible in his green eyes.

"It's not you. You can't help how you feel, Duo. I just…I just can't stay with you, knowing that…knowing that you want someone else more than you want me."

His voice almost breaks at the end of the sentence, and he hastily turns and lifts the suitcase. He's really going to do it. He's going to leave me.

"Trowa, please listen to me. You're wrong. You're _wrong_ , Trowa."

He moves very close to me, his suitcase in his hand. "Can you look me in the eyes, Duo, and tell me that the sex you had with Heero meant nothing to you? Means nothing to you now?"

I stare at him, not speaking, confused. I don't know what my answer is supposed to be, don't know even what it _is_.

"Can you honestly tell me that you're not attracted to him? That you never have been? That you wouldn't have been with him if he'd asked you instead of Relena?"

"Trowa, what do ‘what-ifs' matter?" I ask desperately. "I don't know what would have happened. All I know is that I'm with _you_ and I love _you_ and…"

He shakes his head, and pushes past me. "I can't be second choice," he mutters, and he's gone.

I stand stock still, concentrating on breathing. I feel dizzy - this is so sudden, so unexpected…so wrong.

I jerk myself back into focus. I can't let him leave. I have to stop him, talk to him, tell him he's wrong. I have to…

I hear the door in the living room close softly. I turn, finally able to move, to run…I run out into the living room -

\- and it's empty. He's gone.

I collapse onto the couch and stare at the door. I can hear the blood rushing in my ears.

He's gone.

He's left me.

I'm alone.

 _Tick_.

Tock.

 _Tick_.

Tock.

 _Click_.

 _Brmmmmmm_ …

_____________________________________

I don't know why I'm here. It's not a good plan. He'll try to stop me, try to move me from my planned course of action. But…

I can't go wherever I'm going without saying good-bye to them. Six years ago, during the war, I could go wherever I wanted, beholden to noone. Just like six years ago I could go anywhere with just the clothes on my back. Now, my arm aches from carrying my heavy suitcase across town, and I have to try to discharge some of the responsibilities to the people who have expressed caring for me.

It might hurt them if I leave without saying good-bye. I won't take the chance.

Resolutely, I raise my hand and knock.

I don't know if I'll get a response. If I don't, then I will have to leave with this particular duty undone. I can't face that mansion, the horde of people always thronging through and around it.

Only a few people know about this place. Noone would ever imagine that Quatre Raberba Winner, with mansions in half the major cities in the world, would ever rent a dinky little three bedroom in the Sank capital.

But it's his place. Only his friends know about it. It's somewhere he can go when he wants or needs to be alone.

I can understand that.

I stand in the hallway for a moment. There's no response to my knock. I pick up my suitcase and turn to leave. I'm conscious of a faint twinge of regret; it would have been nice to have someone to say good-bye to.

But just as I begin to walk away, the door opens and Quatre's blond head peers around its edge.

"Trowa!" he calls. "What are you doing here?"

I turn to face him. I hadn't thought how I would tell him; how I would explain why I was leaving.

His face changes as he looks at me, the engaging smile slipping away, replaced by a frown of concern. "What is it?" he demands urgently, staring into my eyes. "What's wrong?"

"I came to say good-bye," I say slowly.

His frown deepens, and he moves back, opening the door wider. "Come in," he says simply. It is not a request.

I accede to the order. Leaving my suitcase beside the door, I follow him from the entry hall into his living room, a room that's bigger than the entire apartment that I had shared with Duo.

As I follow his slight form, I absently notice something curious. Though it's well past noon, Quatre is still in his bathrobe. Maybe he's on vacation.

He turns his head and smiles at me over his shoulder before we enter the living room. The expression seems somewhat nervous.

As we enter the room, I immediately see why. Sprawled on the large white sofa, clad in nothing but a pair of scarlet silk boxers and a somewhat petulant expression, is Wufei. His hair is unbound, the shining locks spilling across his shoulders. I've never seen Wufei's hair down before.

He looks up as we enter the room, and when he sees me he flushes almost as red as his boxers. With a muttered exclamation, he grabs a soft throw from the back of the sofa and throws it over his hips.

I turn to my head to regard Quatre, who now has a somewhat guilty expression on his face. "Congratulations," I murmur.

"We were going to tell you all soon," he assures me. "We just…"

His voice trails off, and I nod in understanding. I do understand. They didn't want to spoil their new-found happiness by bringing others into it too soon.

I turn back to Wufei, and nod to him as well. "I am glad," I say simply.  
He nods back, acknowledging my congratulations and approval and thanking me for them in that one gesture. I've always liked that about Wufei - he knows when words are necessary, and when they are not.

A frown, much like the one still on Quatre's face, creases Wufei's brow as he looks into my face. "What's wrong, Barton?" he asks, leaning forward intently. "What's happened?"

"I'm leaving. I came to say good-bye to Quatre. I'm glad I could see you as well before I go," I tell him, aware that I've not answered his question. I turn, intending to leave now that I have said my farewells. Quatre moves swiftly though, and blocks my exit from the room.

"Uh-uh," he says firmly, his blond head shaking in a firm negative. "You don't just come here and announce you're leaving for parts unknown and not tell us what's wrong."

I look calmly at him, waiting for him to finish.

He sighs impatiently, and points at a large armchair across from the couch. "Sit," he orders.

I stare at him for another moment, then turn and seat myself in the designated chair. It's easier to just do as he asks; I could get past him, but Wufei would probably challenge me to a duel or something if I were impolite to Quatre. That would take too much time. I have to go.

Quatre sits on the other end of the couch and regards me with eyes narrowed in contemplation. I'm a little uncomfortable with both he and Wufei staring at me so intently, but I return their gazes steadily, saying nothing.

"What's wrong, Trowa?"

"I'm leaving," I repeat. "I wanted to say good-bye to…"

"We know that part," Wufei interrupts, frowning at me. I turn my gaze to him, and the frown deepens.

"Is it something about Duo?" Quatre asks, going unerringly to the heart of the matter. I try not to wince when I hear the name.

I say nothing. I don't want to talk about it.

"Is he all right?" Quatre presses, concerned.

"He's fine," I say shortly. I don't want to talk about him.

"Did you have a fight?" he questions relentlessly.

I stare fixedly at him, not replying. I thought he was supposed to be empathic. I don't want to discuss it, Quatre.

"What happened, Trowa?" Quatre asks again, his voice very gentle.

I hold back a sigh, and tacitly acknowledge defeat. He isn't going to let up until I tell him. My best option now is to tell him quickly so I can leave.

In a few crisp sentences, I relate the events of last night, and my discovery of this morning. As I describe the scene I was met with in my living room Wufei's eyes narrow angrily and Quatre gasps, his blue eyes filling with tears. Tears for me.

"So…you're leaving him?" Quatre asks, his eyes uncertain.

I nod.

"You will not stay and fight?" Wufei demands.

I look at him. I don't doubt Wufei would fight if he were in my position. Particularly in this case - he and Heero have always been very competitive. But I realize that it is a battle I am doomed to lose, that the only thing I stand to gain is more hurt for everyone.

I am responsible. I should never have allowed it to continue so long, knowing…I wanted to believe that what I wanted to be true was true. But noone can live a lie forever; there is always a day of reckoning.

"Trowa…" Quatre hesitates, obviously trying to think of a way to phrase what he wants to say without angering me. He doesn't need to bother. I'm not going to get angry with him.

"You've been with Duo for three years. Don't you think maybe you should try to work this out, instead of just walking away?"

I stare at him. How do you ‘work out' something like that? Duo wants Heero. He may want me too, but to a lesser degree. Therefore, it is Heero that Duo should be with. It is impossible for that to happen with me there, so I have to leave.

Quatre tilts his head to one side inquisitively. "Trowa, do you think…Are you afraid that this happened because he loves Heero more than he loves you? Is that what this is about?"

Maybe he is empathic. Or maybe…maybe he's just able to analyze available data and come up with a logical conclusion. Either way, I don't think I need to answer that question.

"Did you tell him that that's what you think?" he asks.

I can handle yes/no questions. I nod my head once.

"What did he say?"

The sooner he's done, the sooner I can leave. "He said I was wrong."

Quatre lifts a brow at me. "And?"

And what? What does he want to know now?

"You don't believe him?" he clarifies.

There's another one I don't need to answer.

Wufei clears his throat. "Did you ask him why he was with Yuy?"

I shake my head. "No need," I say shortly.

Quatre sighs. "I wish you hadn't made up your mind on this," he says sadly. "I think you may not be right."

At least he's diplomatic. I sit straighter in the chair, preparing to stand up.

"I just wanted to say good-bye." I sound like a damn parrot.

"Where are you going?" Quatre asks.

I blink, startled by the question. I haven't really thought about it. I just want to get as far away from…here…as possible. I don't know that the whole world is big enough to get me far enough away…

I blink again, struck by the idea. "I think," I say slowly, "I think I'll go back to outer space."

Quatre utters a soft exclamation, and even Wufei looks startled. None of us have left the planet in several years. Even Quatre has been running his family's business affairs from Earth, allowing several of his sisters to oversee the colony operations. We've never discussed it, but none of us have left.

But I think it's time for me to go back there. The thought of travelling through the dark void of space isn't bothering me anymore.

"I'll go back to L3," I say, almost to myself. "Try to find the colony I'm from."

Wufei shifts position. He stares at me, his dark eyes as flat as my own. "Why?" he asks bluntly. "What can you find there?"

I don't know. But…well, it's far from here. I don't really want to think about anything else. What does he mean, what will I find there?

"You're not going to outer space today," Quatre says decisively. "You're staying here."

I am not. Quatre anticipates my denial and speaks even more firmly. "It will take time to arrange transport to L3. They don't have hourly flights," he points out wryly. "You'll stay in the guestroom for a day or two, then you can go if you still think you want to."

I think about arguing, but suddenly I'm tired. Very, very tired. Too tired to fight with Quatre about so small a thing. He's right, anyway. I don't really want to sit around a spaceport for hours or days, waiting for a shuttle to take off.

"If I won't be intruding…" I say tonelessly.

"Don't be silly!" Quatre assures me. He stands up, and looks soberly down at me. "Let's get your bag, and settle you in, Trowa-kun," he says gently.

I nod, and follow him. Just a day or two here, and then…then I'll be back in space, back on L3, back where I started. Maybe there, I can find something for which to begin again.

I heard him come in. He didn't make any noise, and I was pulling my shirt over my head, but I knew he was there. He's always been able to sense the presence of others, but he's the only one I've ever really been that attuned to.

Well, except for Treize. But that was nothing like this…That was the reflection of this - everything was backwards, opposite to what it should be. Wrong.

The thought of Treize makes me scowl, as usual. He, immersed in worry over our unexpected guest, for once misinterprets the expression.

"I'm worried about him, Wufei," he says, his concern throbbing in his voice. "Did you see his face?"

I nod. He doesn't need to expand; I know exactly what about Barton's face bothered him. The closed-off expression. An expression noone as young as he should ever have had to develop, an expression that we thought he would never have to wear again.

All of us had similar faces. Yuy's was almost as implacable as Barton's. Mine was a face of anger, Quatre's was one of sorrow and remorse. Even Maxwell's frequently infuriating mirth and exuberance was a mask that shielded him, prevented others from knowing him. When the war was over, we were all able to finally stop wearing these created facades, and show our true faces to the world.

It wasn't easy. We had to find them ourselves, first. It's a process that I don't think we've completed, even now, five years after Mariemaya's rebellion, six years after the death of Treize.

If there were any true justice in the world, none of us would ever have to rely on those guises again.

But Trowa is. And, worst of all, it was Maxwell who forced him to don it.

That may not be forgivable.

"Wufei."

Quatre's voice jars me from my reverie. I shake my head, startled, and meet his steady blue gaze.

"We don't know Duo's side of the story," he reminds me. "There may be more to it than we - or even Trowa - realize."

Being so intimately involved with a psychic will take some getting used to.

"I'm not really a psychic," he tells me earnestly. A mischievous grin crosses his face as I start in surprise at his words, which so precisely answer my thoughts. "You're just very easy to read," he tells me, his eyes warm with amusement.

"Only for you," I mutter gruffly. He reaches out and touches my cheek lightly, smiling at me, realizing the affection I was trying to express with that somewhat sterile remark. I had been troubled by the thought that I could not be demonstrative enough for someone as expressive as Quatre. But he's right - he can read me quite easily.

"Duo is probably terribly upset," Quatre frets.

I grunt. In my opinion, Maxwell deserves to be terribly upset. Yuy as well. It was dishonorable of them both to play Barton false and doubly so to do it in his own home.

"Wufei…would you go talk to him? See what happened?"

I stare at Quatre in amazement. He wants me to what?

"Please," he entreats earnestly, his blue eyes pleading. "I really don't want to leave Trowa. He won't ask me for anything, but I want to be here if he needs me."

I scowl. "I have nothing to say to Maxwell," I protest.

"Someone needs to be with him too," Quatre insists. "I'll go if you'd rather, but…"

I sigh. I've lost this argument. I'd rather face Maxwell at his most manic than try to deal with the silent, rigidly contained mass of despair that is Trowa Barton.

"I don't know that he'll be pleased to see me," I grumble, making my way out of the bedroom and to the door of the apartment. Quatre follows me and opens the door for me, reaching out to touch my cheek again as I leave.

"That's fine," he murmurs, before closing the door softly behind me.

I stare at the closed panel in surprise for a moment. A small smile tugs momentarily at my lips. It is so easy to underestimate Quatre. All that sweetness and light softens a very firm will and a sense of right and wrong that is as strong as my own. He is probably no more pleased with Duo Maxwell than I am.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> by Shoori

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from Dacia, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [A Little Piece of Gundam Wing](https://fanlore.org/wiki/A_Little_Piece_Of_Gundam_Wing), which closed in 2017. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after July 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [a little piece of gundam wing collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/alittlepieceofgundamwing/profile).

As I knock on the door, I hear a loud clattering in the apartment, as though someone is recklessly destroying things in the rush to get to the door.

The door swings open, revealing a rumpled, red-eyed Duo Maxwell.

"Trowa!" he shouts as he yanks the door open. "I knew you'd…" He stops short when he sees me. "Oh," he mumbles, obviously confused. "I thought you were…"

"May I come in?" I ask in my most businesslike manner.

"I…um…Sure, Fei," he replies weakly, stepping away from the door and motioning me in.

I step in and look around the apartment. Maxwell has obviously not been huddled in a corner unable to move. The place is a wreck - pillows and magazines and other debris are strewn everywhere. Small pieces of furniture are overturned. Glancing in the direction of the kitchen, I see broken glass on the floor. Sitting on the couch is a large framed picture of Duo and Trowa. I sit on the couch next to the photograph - the seat is warm.

I look up at Maxwell. "I see you are employing constructive means of correcting this situation," I remark. "Were you staring at it and weeping or clutching it to you and weeping?"

He flushes angrily and darts forward to grab the picture out of my hands. My deliberate rudeness seems to have had the proper effect. I settle back and wait for the explosion.

Slowly, his shoulders sag, though, and the angry color leaves his face. "Both," he admits in a rueful voice, his mouth twisting in angry self-loathing.

I frown, somewhat at a loss. Maxwell is supposed to defend himself. I could then puncture his ridiculous arguments with logic, pointing out to him how he has erred. What is my part if he doesn't play his?

"I guess you've seen Trowa?" he asks abruptly, dropping to the floor and drawing his knees to his chest with his usual lithesome grace.

I nod. "He came to say good-bye to Quatre," I say slowly.

Duo raises a brow at me, a spark of interest kindling in his violet eyes. "Good-bye?" he repeats, his voice tense. He is silent for a moment. "He went to the mansion?"

I stop myself from squirming. Sometimes Maxwell is too damn perceptive. "No," I answer shortly.

"Quatre was at his apartment?"

I nod.

Duo starts to smile. "You were there?" he asks meaningfully.

Now it is my turn to flush. "I am frequently there," I manage finally, attempting to hold on to my dignity.

The expression turns into a full-fledged grin. "Wu-man, you dog," he teases, a sly edge to his voice.

"I understand that that term can apply to you as well," I answer coldly.

When I see the change in his face, the look that flashes into his eyes, I almost regret my deliberately cruel words. Almost.

"You and Quatre must hate me, huh?" he asks defeatedly, dropping his gaze to the floor.

I frown. He has phrased his question in the most difficult way possible. If I say yes, he wallows in misery and self-hatred. If I say no, I condone his actions.

He did that on purpose. I know he did.

But he miscalculated. The touch of pity I had begun to feel disappears. I don't like being manipulated.

"What happened?" I ask abruptly. Quatre said we needed his side; I'll ask for his side.

Duo looks up, a slight frown on his face. Now I'm not playing by the script, and he doesn't like that any better than I do.

"Heero was drunk," he says finally. "He had a nightmare. I heard him and came out; I didn't want to wake Trowa."

He looks at me, but I make no comment. Somehow, I don't feel that this is the day to be congratulating him on his consideration toward Barton.

"Well, he woke up and told me about the dream. It was about the war."

I almost wince. I know from painful experience what it is to dream about the war. I have lost count of how often I have been forced to watch helplessly as my colony was destroyed so that I would be free to fight. I can no longer recall how many times I have killed Treize Kushrenada.

"He was…I don't know how to explain it, Fei. He asked me to…"

He pauses, but I can guess what Heero asked him to do. That is surprising; it is definitely unlike Yuy to initiate such an encounter.

"What could I do, Wufei?" he demands, looking at me angrily as I still fail to reply. "I couldn't reject him, not the way he was. It would have destroyed him."

I can't help it - I snort.

"What?" Maxwell demands angrily.

"It would take more than a sexual refusal to ‘destroy' Heero Yuy," I say bluntly. "You'll need to come up with a better excuse than that."

That particular deliberate rudeness seems to have worked better. Maxwell leaps to his feet, and clenches his fists angrily.

"Are you accusing me of lying?" he demands ominously.

I pause to think. Whatever his other faults, Maxwell does not lie. "Perhaps you are lying to yourself," I amend after a moment. "I can't believe that you were so altruistic in your motives."

He turns his back on me and stalks across the apartment. "Not that I see what business it is of yours, Chang," he spits angrily over his shoulder.

I nod. "As you say," I concede. "Quatre just believed that we should know your side of the story."

"So, now what?" he asks, glaring balefully across the room at me. "Now you've heard it from the lion's mouth - I, Duo Maxwell, am a fornicator and an adulterer," he shouts, throwing his arms wide in an unnecessarily dramatic gesture. "Now what - you're free to punish and condemn me?"

I regard him thoughtfully. "It seems you're doing that well enough yourself," I comment.

He continues to glare at me, obviously frustrated I didn't say something else he could take offense to. Finally, with a low growl of exasperation, he comes back and throws himself back onto the floor, hiding his head in his hands.

"How's Trowa?" he asks after a moment, lifting his head to look at me.

I think for a moment. "Hurt," I say finally.

He grimaces, a small groan of remorse escaping his lips.

"Betrayed," I continue.

This time the sound is louder, the grimace more pronounced.

"Angry," I proceed.

"At me?" he asks quickly, his expression…hopeful?

I shake my head slowly. "At himself, I think," I say, frowning as I try to clarify the thought in my mind.

"Himself?" Duo repeats incredulously. "For what?"

I look steadily at Maxwell. "For believing you when you said you loved him," I say. I'm very proud of myself. I got through that entire womanish statement without gagging. It must be Quatre's influence.

This seems to hit Maxwell harder than anything else I have said. He starts, his deep eyes filling with fresh tears. I turn my head to one side, not wishing to see another warrior weep.

"How can he think that?" he whispers brokenly.

My head jerks back in his direction and I snarl at him, suddenly and completely out of patience. "What did you expect, Maxwell?" I snap. "You betrayed him. With someone who is also his friend. That is an unconscionable act."

"Fei…I know," he says quietly. "I can't change it, though. I'm sorry, and I wish he'd…"

"You're in no position to be wanting things from him," I say bluntly.

"So what should I do?" he fires back. "You seem to know all the answers here - how should I proceed? Enlighten me, Master Chang," he drawls sarcastically.

I frown. "I…don't know," I confess, scowling over the admission. "I will ask Quatre." I stand up. I don't want to be here anymore. I am feeling strained, trapped in this morass of melodrama.

Duo stares at me with haunted eyes. He doesn't want me to leave; doesn't want to be alone. I know it, and I am leaving him anyway. I feel a twinge of remorse, but quickly silence it. It will not harm Maxwell to experience some of the sense of isolation Barton is feeling.

"Have Quatre call me, ok Fei?" he asks tonelessly.

I nod, and move to the door. I open it and walk through, starting to pull it shut behind me. But I stop. Whatever he's done, I can't leave him sitting there on the floor without a parting word.

I turn around, and look back into the room. "Maxwell," I call sharply.

He looks up at me in surprise.

"I…I hope that it all…I hope that you can fix this," I flounder.

He stares at me slightly, then smiles, relief in his eyes.

"Thank you, Wufei," he says meaningfully.

I flush. I guess I am that easy to read.

_________________________________________

Today is the day.

Today I will cease vacillating.

Today I will leave the quagmire of weak indecision that has become my life.

I sit bolt upright in the bed, swing my legs over the side and stand up. I stride to one side of the room, and open the door to my closet.

My closet. It's bigger than some places that house whole families.

I have to dig deep in the back to uncover what I'm looking for. Finally, I find them, and grunt in satisfaction as I pull them on.

I come back out into the bedroom and see that Relena is awake. She squints and me, and scowls when she sees what I'm wearing.

"Taking a trip down memory lane?" she asks nastily.

Not even Relena can destroy my mood today. Finally, finally I am completing a mission.

I don't respond to her, don't even acknowledge her as I sit on the edge of the bed and put on my sneakers.

I tug the hem of the tank top down. It isn't the one I wore in the wars - that was six years ago. I was fifteen. I've grown. But it's the same green, and the spandex shorts are of the same style as the ones I wore all those years ago.

Relena used to tease me about them right after we were married. She bought me new ones regularly, for a while. Then she stopped buying them.

But then, I'd stopped wearing them, so I suppose it isn't surprising.

I don't know if the blame for what has happened to our marriage rests with one or the other of us. Neither of us is really suited to be married to anyone, much less to each other. I suppose we did what we could with what we had.

But it's not enough, not anymore. I finish tying my sneakers, and stand up and head for the door. I still haven't spoken to her.

"Heero!" she demands peremptorily. "What are you doing?"

I pause in the doorway and turn to look at her. She's flushed and petulant, flouncing up from the bed, tangled in the folds of her pink nightgown. I smile slightly, then turn and leave.

I ignore the sound of her outraged protests as I stride down the hall and down the stairs. She'll be after me any minute. I don't care.

Soon, I'm descending the steep stairs into the cellars of the palace. I move surely through the dim series of rooms, past nailed-shut crates and old furniture, through the wine cellars. When I reach the furthest room, I stop. I kneel down on the floor in the far corner, and gently tug on one of the large stones in the bottom row.

After a moment, it grudgingly gives and I pull it aside, revealing the small space behind it.

It wasn't easy to make this space. It took a long time. I needed a secure hiding spot, though, and they aren't easy to find in the Sank Palace.

The only things in the space are the two objects I'd placed in there. One small, cylindrical object. The other, a small, square box..

Both look perfectly innocuous. Together, they could probably destroy the palace.

After the events of yesterday morning, I realize that I've probably destroyed Duo and Trowa's lives. The past three years have been bad enough, wallowing in my own misery, watching my own life be wasted. Now, it seems that, through my misery, I'm starting to destroy the lives of others.

I can't allow that to happen. It's time I take action.

I'm taking action now.

I standing up, blowing gently on the small box, raising a slight cloud of dust. I run my fingers over it lightly, finding a small switch on the side. Lightly, I flick it to the ‘on' position. A red light begins to glow on the top of the box.

I feel myself smirk. Five years in a hole in the wall isn't enough to break _this_.

I quickly make my way back through the cellars, not bothering to replace the stone in the wall. I won't be needing a hiding place here any more.

I climb the stairs, and run right into Relena. She scowls at me, and opens her mouth to say something biting. She interrupts herself with a startled gasp, however, when she sees the objects in my hands.

"What are those?" she demands angrily.

I don't answer her. I turn around and head for the front door.

"Heero Yuy!" she shouts behind me. "What do you have in your hands?"

I reach the door, Relena still trailing behind me.

"Are you telling me that all these years you've had a bomb hidden in my own house?" she shrieks.

I turn and give her a withering stare. "It isn't a bomb," I say shortly, the scorn I feel apparent in my tone.

All the time she spent around armies during various wars, and she can't even tell what this is.

The door slams on her furious recriminations.

Still holding my hoard, I walk into the garage. I walk past the chauffeur, nod at him, take a set of keys from the wall and step into a car.

Not that horrible pink limousine Relena drives. Thank God, I'll never have to ride in that again.

"Sir!" the chauffeur stammers, running to the side of the car. "Can I drive you somewhere, sir?"

I put the key in the ignition. I turn my head and regard the man steadily. "No," I reply flatly as I turn the key, shift the car into gear, and drive out of the garage.

A few moments later, I've arrived at Preventer Headquarters. I stride through the familiar halls, ignoring the various greetings directed at me. I go directly to the upper floor, where the mobile suits are held.

As I enter, I see Lady Une standing there, deep in discussion with a bored mechanic. I nod to her, and cross to a row of mobile suits. I contemplate them for a moment, then decide on an old OZ Aires. I tuck the objects under my arm, and begin to climb up the suit.

"Heero!" I turn my head and see Une bearing down on me. I continue to climb.

"What are you doing?" she shouts.

I sigh. She shouts louder than Relena.

"I'm taking this suit," I call down.

"What?!" she shrieks.

I roll my eyes. "I'm not attacking anyone with it," I snap impatiently, easing the door to the cockpit open. "I just need to get somewhere in a hurry."

"Heero, would you please come down here?" she asks in a cold voice. "I would like to discuss this with you."

"No time, Une!" I shout. "Open the doors!"

"I am not opening them until you come down here," she orders. "My office. Now!"

"I'll just break through them," I warn.

"You'll then be classed as an enemy and shot down," she informs me crisply, turning and striding away. "Your choice."

I've got to give her one thing. She doesn't bluff.

I shrug to myself. I guess a small delay is unavoidable. I gently deposit my burden on the pilot's seat, then casually jump off the entry hatch. The wind ruffles through my hair, and I feel the jarring impact in my knees as my feet slam into the ground. Some things you never forget, I guess.

I walk casually into Une's office. It has annoyed legions of people that she insists on having her office in such a difficult to access place, but she insists on being near the mobile suits so she can keep an eye on them herself. I've always approved of that decision.

As I go into her office, I can see that she's already sitting in her leather desk chair. It isn't big and ostentatious like Relena's - it's built for comfort and efficiency, not show. I throw myself casually into one of the two straight chairs on the other side of the desk.

"What's this about, Heero?" she asks, getting right to the point.

"I need to borrow a suit," I reply simply. "I promise I will not kill, shoot, wound, attack or otherwise destroy anyone with it."

"What about with the things you were carrying when you came in?" she asks.

I smile slightly. Une isn't as unschooled in armaments as Relena. "I'm not going to hurt anyone," I repeat.

She shakes her head. "I can't let you take out a mobile suit," she decides.

"Respectfully, Commander, you can't stop me," I tell her, standing up and stretching.

Her eyes narrow. "Oh really, Mr. Yuy, and what do you think…"

"I could fire you," I tell her calmly.

She laughs scornfully. "You could not," she replies. "Neither could Relena, though she likes to think so. It would take…"

"I know," I interrupt. "I know it would never stand. But it would cause a lot of confusion here, wouldn't it? I go out of this office, announce that I've fired you, and take off in the suit. You order me shot down. The gunners have just been informed by the Prince Consort that you've been fired. What do they do? Maybe they obey eventually, but by then I'm gone."

Une stares at me, her eyes glittering angrily and her cheeks pink. I stare steadily at her.

"I just want the suit, Une," I say quietly. "I won't do anything bad with it."

"Where are you going?" she asks tightly.

I'm quiet for a moment, then I smile sadly. "Back to the end," I say, and turn around and leave the office.

I hear footsteps hurrying behind me, and sigh. "Une, please, just…"

"All right, Heero," she says, falling into step with me. "You can take the suit. But -," here she stops walking, and reaches up and grips my shoulders, "if you do anything with it that falls back on me, I'll kill you myself. Got it?"

I nod. "Thank you," I say simply.

"Get lost before I change my mind," she says grimly.

I nod, scale the suit again, and strap myself into the pilot's seat, carefully placing the cylindrical object in my pocket and the box on the seat between my legs. I punch the appropriate buttons, and feel the suit come to life beneath me.

The viewscreen flickers, and Une's face appears on it. "You are clear to go," she informs me briefly. "Don't do anything I'll regret," she warns again, before signing out.

I pull the control, and feel the suit soar into the air. I clear the roof and lean on the control, picking up speed as fast as I can, glorying in the feel of the suit carrying me to my destination.

_____________________________________

Une watched the suit out of sight, then turned and walked back into her office. She sat in her chair, her eyes narrowed contemplatively.

After a moment, she pulled the phone toward her, picked it up and dialed.

"Yes, this is Commander Une of the Preventers. I need to speak to Mr. Winner at once."

She paused. "It is an emergency, Rashid. Patch me through to wherever he is."

_____________________________________

"Yes. You did? Good thinking. Yes, we'll follow him right away. What? No, we'll take my plane. Yes, it's fast enough. Thank you, Lady Une."

I hang up the phone and stare at Wufei, knowing that the consternation I feel is apparent on my face.

"What's wrong?" he asks intently.

"That was Une. Heero just came in and took an Aries suit."

Wufei chokes on the breath he was inhaling. "He what?"

"He took a suit. Threatened to fire her if he didn't get it."

Wufei sputters. "He can't do that!" he protests.

"I know that, and Une does, and Heero does too. But most people don't and he was going to take advantage of that," I explain grimly.

"Where in the name of sanity is he going?" Wufei bellows.

I bite my lip. "Une said he told her he was going ‘back to the end.'"

Wufei growls in frustration, his hand tugging at his hair. "That's specific," he grumbles. "What's the latitude for ‘the end?'" His words are sarcastic, but I can tell from the worry in his eyes that he's got the implications.

"She said he was acting very strangely," I report absently. I'm starting to feel ill. The roiling in my stomach could be caused by worry for Heero, or…"

I look up sharply, and Trowa is standing in the doorway. "Trowa! What are you…" I falter to a halt as he continues to stare at me; I realize he's probably heard most of the conversation.

"Do you have any idea where he's gone?" he asks calmly, sounding for all the world like Heero's just late for lunch.

"Uh…Commander Une was able to put a tracking device on him," I manage lamely. "She's going to patch the signal through to my plane, so we can follow him."

He nods briefly, then turns. "I'll be ready in a minute," he says.

"What? Where are you going? I mean, you want to…"

He turns to look at me again, his green eyes utterly emotionless. "He's not getting out of it this easily," he says very quietly. "I won't let him."

Then he's gone, and I turn back to Wufei. I have to repress a smile at the look on his face - he looks utterly confused.

"Is Barton going to fight Yuy after all?" he asks.

I shake my head. "I don't think so, Fei-chan," I tell him, unable to keep the smile out of my voice.

"Then why does he care if he dies?" he asks. "I would think he would be glad - it would clear the way for…"

I sigh. "I think…I think he wants to keep him alive for Duo," I say unhappily.

Wufei frowns, then snorts inelegantly. That is the one habit I would really like to break him of. "He needs to…he needs to get a grip," he announces, looking rather pleased that he remembered the American expression of Duo's.

He's right, though. Trowa definitely needs to get a grip.

__________________________________________

I carefully manipulate the controls, bringing the machine gently down to earth. I hit the buttons in an automatically remembered sequence, and the suit shudders as the lights on the console fade off. I open the door, and once more allow myself to fall to earth.

I look around for a moment, not moving. It is…peaceful. Small trees are sprouting in many places, grass and moss and vines cover the exploded chunks of rock. I move about slowly. The piles of debris are hidden by the same coverings of greenery. I hear birds sing.

I shake my head in amazement. I remember the sounds, the explosions, the fire and the screams and the anger. But five short years have erased the most visible signs of the battle that raged here from the land. It seems that the land recovers more quickly than the people that walk it.

I walk on, until I come to the place I was looking for. A huge, square pit in the ground marks all that remains of Dekim Barton's impregnable stronghold. I stare down into the pit, remembering.

"You don't need him anymore, Heero," Duo says with finality, resting his hand on my shoulder.

I nod. He's right. I don't.

"Quatre and Trowa and I are taking Sandrock and Heavyarms and Deathscythe away," he says quietly. "Do you want to bring Wing…with them?"

I shake my head slowly. "No," I say. "I think…I think he'd rather stay here."

I continue to stare into the hole that holds the remains of Wing Zero. My Gundam. I reach into my shorts and pull out the box. I regard it for a moment, then set it on the edge of the precipice.

That box, and the activator in my hand, are all that I still have of Wing. I was able to remove them before he was laid to rest in the hole, and I have saved them all this time.

The self-destruct mechanism.

_____________________________________

"Are we close?" Duo asks. I hear the worry in his tone and try not to flinch. Since I turned my back on him when he entered the plane, he hasn't tried to approach me. I'm glad. I just wish I didn't have to hear his fear for Heero.

"Yes," Quatre tells him. "He seems to have stopped moving. We should be there any minute."

I stare out the window. Hopefully we will be in time. Duo must not suffer this.

______________________________________

Quatre brings the plane down in a smooth landing. As we all disembark, I see the huddled form of the deactivated Aries on the ground.

I rush forward, shouting for Heero. I'm aware that Trowa's right behind me, aware of what he must think. I'm probably hurting him again, fueling his suspicions about my feelings for Heero.

But the danger Heero is facing is more immediate. If…if anything happens, it is my fault. I didn't stop him from leaving yesterday, didn't contact him. I knew he was blaming himself for what happened, and I really didn't try all that hard to convince him it wasn't his fault. I was too wrapped up in my own misery to worry about his.

Heero is my friend. I was attracted to him when we were younger. Trowa was right in that. Then he married Relena, and I fell in love with Trowa. But I guess some of that feeling never went away, and when he offered me the opportunity….I was curious. It was irresponsible and foolish and wrong, but I was curious.

I love Trowa. But I love Heero as well. Maybe not in the same way, but they are not the same people. I don't see why loving one precludes loving the other.

But now, Heero could…God, I can't even think it. And it would be my fault.

I frown, trying to remember the lay of the area. Its been five years since I was here. I squint toward the West, trying to see through the glare of the setting sun.

"I think the compound was that way," Quatre calls, gesturing in the opposite direction.

We all turn to look where he is pointing. Its much darker over there, and the silhouette of a few trees stand out clearly against the twilight sky.

I nod, and we all begin to move toward the east…

…when a tremendous roar fills the air and we're all knocked to the ground by the force of the explosion that accompanies it. I look up, horrified, and stare transfixed at the rolling flames and shooting debris that now fill the entire skyline.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> by Shoori

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from Dacia, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [A Little Piece of Gundam Wing](https://fanlore.org/wiki/A_Little_Piece_Of_Gundam_Wing), which closed in 2017. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after July 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [a little piece of gundam wing collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/alittlepieceofgundamwing/profile).

I instinctively hug the ground, tucking my head down, shielding it from being struck by any of the detritus that inevitably accompanies an explosion like that one.

Noone could survive that. The self-destruct mechanisms in our machines were made to destroy Gundanium. Heero survived a self-detonation once, but Wing took the brunt of that explosion. This time, there was no machine to shield him.

The aftershocks of the eruption subside, and I carefully rise to my feet. I shield my eyes and stare into the inferno. I see Duo, standing with his back to me, staring at the flames.

He thinks this is his fault. It isn't - Yuy is responsible for his own decisions - decisions made that night, decisions made today.

I stare past Duo, into the flames. Someone should probably attempt to go there, to see if any…if anything can be found. It can't be Duo. It shouldn't be Quatre.

I turn and glance at Wufei, and see that he's comforting a quietly sobbing Quatre. I suppress a sigh, and move forward, walking past Duo without looking at him.

I can not leave without having looked for Heero.

I begin to pick my way carefully across the ground, watching where I step to be sure I don't accidentally tread on anything expelled from the wreckage.

Therefore, when I glance up, I am totally unprepared for the vision I see before me.

A firmly built, determined figure, clad in spandex shorts and a green tank top, with dark hair falling down over a forehead creased in irritation, is striding toward me, eerily backlit by flames.

For one horrible moment, I am back in the war.

The next moment, which is equally though differently horrible, I am sure that I'm losing my mind. That I'm seeing ghosts.

No ghost ever scowled quite that blackly.

He's not dead.

He stops walking, and looks uncertainly at me.

I open my mouth to speak, and something rushes past me and throws itself at Heero.

"You _idiot_! What the Hell do you think you're doing?"

It's Duo. My mouth closes, my words unspoken, as I watch him wrap a seemingly surprised Heero in a fierce hug. He pulls away and angrily dashes the back of his hand across his eyes, brushing away unshed tears of relief.

"Don't _ever_ scare me like that again, Yuy!" he shouts. "What do you think I'd have done if you'd self-destructed, huh?"

I don't wait to see if Heero has an answer. I don't want to hear it. I turn, and move away unnoticed, back the way I came.

Wufei and Quatre are hurrying over. Wufei brushes past me, and I hear his voice raised in anger as he upbraids Heero for his ‘foolish and dishonorable behavior.' I hear Heero's voice growl in return, but can't hear what he's saying.

Quatre stops and puts his hand on my arm, arresting my movement. I raise my eyes and look at him.

"Where are you going, Trowa?" he asks softly.

"I will return the Aries to Une," I answer, turning away.

"Trowa! Duo's glad Heero's not dead - he was scared, now he's relieved. He's not…"

"Tell Yuy that I am glad he is not dead," I interrupt, walking away.

"What am I supposed to tell Duo?" he calls after me.

I stop, and glance back. "Nothing," I mutter. "Nothing at all."

___________________________________

I've never felt so relieved about anything in my life.

I want to hug him, to tell him that nothing is his fault, that nothing is so bad that he has to self-detonate, to let him know how important he is to all of us.

I also want to punch him in the head for scaring me like this.

I content myself with a compromise - I hug him to make sure he's real, and he's alive - then I yell at him.

"Don't _ever_ scare me like that again, Yuy!" I shout at him, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him. "What do you think I'd have done if you'd self-destructed, huh?"

He frowns at me. "If I'd…"

"Really, Yuy," Wufei says disapprovingly. I hadn't heard him approach, but he's standing next to me, frowning fiercely at Heero. "This may have seemed a valiant course of action when we were fifteen, but following such a path now is nothing short of foolish and dishonorable behavior."

"What on earth are you…"

"So, what happened? How'd you get out of that explosion? Did you change your mind in time to run?" I still can't believe that he survived that inferno. Maybe he's made of Gundanium too.

"Change my mind? From what? What are you doing here?"

"Commander Une, may Allah bless her, put a tracking device on you," Quatre says as he joins our merry little band. I notice out of the corner of my eye that he's glaring at Heero with the same expression of exasperated relief that Wufei and I wear.

"She did what?" Heero shouts. "What in the hell for? And why'd you…"

"You take off in a stolen Aries - "

"I didn't steal it, I borrowed it, and I told Une…"

"A practically stolen Aries," I continue, drowning out his protest, "Carrying a self-destruct device and telling people you're going ‘back to the end.' What conclusions are we supposed to draw, Heero?" I finish in a shout.

He blinks at me, a puzzled frown on his face. The frown deepens to a scowl as comprehension dawns. "You mean you thought I was self-destructing?" he demands, his voice heavy with indignation.

"Thought?" Wufei replies angrily. "Tell me you attempted anything different!" he shouts, gesturing to the chaos surrounding us.

"I didn't self-destruct!" Heero protests indignantly.

Quatre closes his eyes for a moment. Maybe he's praying for endurance. Maybe he's giving thanks that Heero's not dead, so that he can have the chance to kill him himself. "We see that, Heero," he says with exaggerated patience. "How did you get away?"

"I was never trying to self-destruct in the first place!" Heero bellows, his face reddening.

I look around in disbelief. "This is the most destructive non-self-destruct I've ever seen," I remark disbelievingly.

"I was…" Heero sighs deeply, running his hand through his already disheveled hair. "I was just…doing something."

"And what might that be?" Wufei demands.

"Never mind. It was something I had to do," Heero mutters, trying to turn away.

"I don't think so, kemo sabe," I say firmly. "What's up with all this, if you weren't trying to self-destruct?"

"I was just…" Heero stutters to a stop again, looking uncomfortable.

"Spit it out," I order suspiciously. I don't know if I believe any of this mysterious ‘something I had to do' crap. It doesn't sound like Heero.

Heero blows out his breath in another irritated sigh. "I decided I have to change my life," he says in a quick, hard voice, obviously trying to get this explanation over with as soon as possible. "I'm miserable. I'm going to leave Relena."

Quatre murmurs in surprise. Wufei's eyes narrow suspiciously.

Ok. I can buy this so far.

"So what's with the pyrotechnics?" I demand, waving my hand at the still merrily burning fires.

He looks embarrassed again. "Well…I thought I had to end with the past before I could start the future," he mutters. Even his ears are red. "That device was all that was left of Wing. I brought it here, where he is…and got rid of it here. Now everything tying me to then is gone, so…"

I stare at him incredulously. "So now you can divorce Relena, because you set off Wing's self-detonate?" I ask, trying to follow this particular twisted thread of Heero logic.

He scowls at me. "When you say it that way, it sounds stupid," he grumbles. "But it made sense in my -,"

I can't help it. It's probably all the accumulated stress and worry and tension and fear of the last day or so. I laugh. And laugh. And laugh. In seconds, I'm down on the ground, rolling around.

"All right, idiot, get up," he mutters, kicking me none too gently in the ribs.

"Oh, oh, oh," I gasp, pulling myself into a sitting position. "And people say I'm melodramatic." I have to wipe my eyes, the force of my mirth has made them tear. "Heero Yuy, Perfect Soldier, blowing up spare bombs on remote corners of the planet rather than go home and drop the big bomb on the wife."

"It's not a bomb," he says in an irritated voice.

I stand up. "Well, I'm glad you're not dead," I tell him, clapping him on the shoulder. "I would have had to go after you in the next world and kick your ass but good if you'd checked out like that."

He gives me a curious look. "Why would you think I was self-destructing?" he asks.

Now it's my turn to look embarrassed. "Well, uh…After yesterday morning…you seemed upset, so I thought…"

He raises his brows at me. He always tries to raise just the one but he can never quite manage it.

"You thought I was going to self-destruct because I'd messed up your love life?" he asks calmly.

Well, geez, when he puts it like that…

But the reminder brings me off my cloud of amused hysteria and back to earth with a decided thud. Trowa! I'm an ass! I'd forgotten him, haven't said a word to him since I saw him head into the flames, presumably to look for Heero's body…

I wheel around quickly, frantically trying to figure out how to save myself from losing even more points than I already have on this one.

But he isn't there. Quatre stares steadily at me, the only hint of his nervousness the way he catches his lower lip between his teeth.

"He…he left, Duo," he tells me quietly.

He left? Just…without a word to me?

Somehow, that shakes me more than anything else that has happened between us so far. He didn't speak to me on the plane, and I'd been too wrapped up in my guilt and worry over Heero to press it.

But now…

Trowa doesn't walk away from things. Ever. Take that circus, for example. He's been with them for years - longer than he ever had to - because those people helped him when he needed it, and he considers them family. With his experience as a soldier and a pilot he could have gotten hundreds of jobs with higher prestige, more money, more challenge. But he won't leave the circus when he feels they need him. He even managed, with a great deal of personal effort and cost, to get them a permanent location, at an amusement park outside the Sank capital, just to make things easier for them, because he owed them.

He works with Une whenever she needs him, because he had made promises to her when he infiltrated OZ all those years ago. Even though he was there as a spy, once Une began to use her power to make the world more like the vision he had fought for, Trowa felt that those vows he'd made under false pretenses had become binding.

For the same reason, he visits Mariemaia frequently at the school where Une placed her. She was a child who had been manipulated, and he had joined her army and taken the name of her only uncle, so he feels he has responsibilities to her.

Trowa won't turn his back on anyone, unless…

He once killed the mercenaries who had raised him because he believed they had double-crossed their unit.

He won't even set foot in a church, and tells me it's because the crosses remind him of a friend who had deceived him.

He has remained on earth all these years in silent protest against the weak and vacillating colonists.

Trowa won't turn his back on anyone unless he believes they have betrayed him, and thus has totally severed all contact with them.

Can he feel that way about me?

He can't! It's not possible. After all these years, one mistake…

One mistake.

One slip.

One betrayal.

Three strikes.

"When…when did he go?" I manage with difficulty.

The worried look is back in Quatre's eyes as he stares at me.

"As soon as he saw that Heero was all right," he says quietly. "He said he would see that the Aries got back to Commander Une," he adds.

Damn the fucking Aries, damn Commander Une and damn Trowa.

"Did he say anything before he left?" I ask, hating myself and him when I hear the pathetic note in my voice.

Quatre shifts uncomfortably. "He said to tell you he's glad you're not dead, Heero," he says, transferring his gaze to Heero.

Heero has the slightly-sick, guilty look on his face again. I hardly notice. "Did he say anything for me?"

Quatre looks even more uncomfortable. He slowly shakes his head in the negative. Now there's pity in his blue eyes.

The hell with that! This is _not_ happening.

I am not letting him throw three _years_ away like so much garbage because of one small transgression and a dramatic invention of his own insecurities.

"Well, we'd better get back then," I say grimly, "Because _I_ have a few things to say to _him_."

_____________________________________

Well, here goes nothing. A confrontation that's been years in the making. I square my shoulders and stride up the steps of the palace: a solitary solider, unaccompanied by any comrades. Noone can help me in this fight. I must be detached from others, isolated, alone.

Quatre and Wufei are waiting in the car.

Wufei didn't want to. But I insisted - I need someone to drive the get-away vehicle, and witnesses in case I don't come out alive.

Duo took off in search of Trowa as soon as the plane landed back at Quatre's airstrip. I can't tell if he decided that he was furious that Barton had left in the Aires without a _word_ to him or despondent that Barton had left in the Aires without a word to _him_.

But I can't think about that now. I can not allow my focus to be marred by guilt.

I open the door, and enter the hall.

Just as I thought. She's lurking, waiting for me to arrive.

"What exactly has gotten into you today?" she demands. Ah. She's taking the offensive.

I stare impassively at her, noting in my peripheral vision the presence of several servants skulking in the background.

Strategy: lure her into a more secure area, less surrounded by her reinforcements.

I walk past her without speaking and begin to ascend the staircase to my bedroom.

I hear her behind me, uttering wordless sounds of enraged indignation.

As I near the top of the stairs, I hear footsteps furiously beat up the stairs behind me.

She can't stand to be ignored.

Know your enemy.

By the time she reaches the top of the stairs, I'm already in the bedroom. I drag a bag out of my too-large closet, and begin to pile my essentials into it. There isn't really a lot here that I want.

The door slams open, and Relena bursts in. She slams the door again behind her.

She didn't used to be this loud.

I glance up at her in time to see her eyes narrow angrily as she observes what I'm doing.

"Where are you going?" she demands, gesturing abruptly at the bag.

I sigh, as I stuff the last few articles of clothing into the bag. That'll be enough to last me until I have a chance to purchase some more.

"I'm leaving, Relena," I tell her calmly, squarely meeting her gaze.

Anger roils through her blue eyes. "Where are you going? And when will you be back?" she grills, moving aggressively closer to me.

I heft the bag over my shoulder. "I am leaving," I repeat firmly. "And I'm not coming back."

"You're leaving _me_?" she asks incredulously.

I nod slowly. "This isn't working, Relena," I say bluntly. "It never has worked. We've let it go on too long. It's time to stop pretending."

"You think you can just waltz out without a word?" she demands. "You wouldn't dare to…"

"Yes, I would, actually," I interrupt. "There's no point to this, Relena. Tell people you threw me out if it makes you feel better. But this is over."

I begin to walk toward the door, intent on passing her and getting out. This is actually going better than I had thought it would.

She grabs my arm as I pass her. "You will regret this," she hisses at me. "If you leave like this, I'll…"

"You'll what?" I half-shout, pulling away. Now I'm starting to get angry too. "Cut off my allowance? Please do. Fire me from the Preventers?" I laugh scornfully. "You couldn't even if you tried, Relena."

She flushes an angry scarlet. "Oh, you think I couldn't?" she repeats. "I could…"

"It would take the express approval of a lot of people - including Commander Une - before you could fire me. I'm damn good at that job," I remind her. "They aren't going to let me go because you're bitter that we broke up."

She stares at me in helpless rage, tears of frustration glimmering in her eyes. Damn. I can't deal with tears.

"Relena, you aren't happy, any more than I am," I tell her, purposely gentling my tone. "You're twenty years old. You want to be locked forever in a marriage to a man you don't love?"

For a moment, she seems to be softening. For the briefest instant, she looks like the girl who threw herself in front of Duo to protect me, the smiling face in a space helmet pressed to mine, the woman who caught me in her arms as I collapsed after battle.

But only for a moment. Her eyes harden, and she is again Queen Relena. "I warn you, Heero," she says in a low, threatening tone, "if you leave this house I will make you very, very sorry."

I shrug. "If that's how you want this to be, Relena, I can't do anything about it," I say fatalistically.

I turn again, and leave the bedroom for the last time. I close the door quietly behind me.

As I descend the ornate stairs, I'm followed by a roar of rage from above, and the sounds of destruction and breaking glass.

I nod sympathetically to the hovering servants as I cross the huge foyer. They should get combat pay.

I walk out of the palace and stand on the steps for a moment, inhaling deeply. I get into the car where Wufei and Quatre are waiting.

Quatre ignites the engine and guides the car down the long drive, through the gates, and off the estate to the road beyond.

"Where to?" he asks, glancing at me in the rear-view mirror.

This morning I lived in a mansion. Now I'm homeless.

I haven't had a day like this in years.

I grin suddenly, startling Quatre as he catches the expression in the mirror.

"Anywhere," I say. "Anywhere at all."

__________________________________________

I pull my borrowed car into one of the ‘employees only' spaces, shift into park, and turn the engine off. I put the keys in my pocket. I take off the seatbelt, and carefully feed it back into its slot. I make sure the visor's put up, adjust the floor mat with my foot, glance into the mirror.

I'm stalling.

I don't want to see Catherine.

The real reason that I accepted Quatre's invitation yesterday was to put off the time when I would have to see Catherine.

It's likely she'll be angry. That will bother me. There's nothing to be angry about. Duo is taking the advice that Heero gave me so long ago - always follow your emotions. I hope it works better for him than it did for me.

Or rather, I hope he is more true to them than I was. I hope he listens when his emotions tell him something, rather than allowing hope and desire to mute their message.

But worse than the angry, protective side of Catherine I expect to flare up will be her sorrow when I tell her of my plans to leave. She'll want me to stay with her, at the circus. She'll worry that returning to L3 will only hurt me more.

I don't want her to know that I think I am beyond hurt.

I glance again into the mirror of the car, the car that commander Une pressed on me when I refused to take the car that Heero had left at Preventer Headquarters.

Une had been vehement in her insistence that I take one of the Preventer vehicles. I didn't really argue, not relishing the thought of carrying my suitcase across town again.

I had to leave Quatre's. I hid there for a day, and that's enough. I need to face Catherine, and then leave. I can't allow myself to be distracted from that plan.

Une looked at me very strangely when I arrived in the Aries. Then, all the while she was talking to me, receiving my brief on Heero, thanking me for the return of the mobile suit, she seemed oddly unable to look at me at all. Une is not a woman given to nervous habits.

I know why she first looked at me that way, and then seemed unwilling to meet my gaze. I saw the same looks on Quatre's and Wufei's faces, and Duo's. I see the reason now, as I stare at my image in the rear view mirror, and watch the flat, dead gaze reflected back at me.

I heard Quatre and Wufei whispering. Wufei called it my ‘mask.' He is a scholar at heart - he sees everything in terms of symbols and images. The expression on my face now, the one cultivated through the years of my childhood, honed during the blood and betrayal of the war, is to him a facade I hide behind to protect my true self, much as the clown mask I wear at the circus is a disguise used to hide my identity while I perform.

I think he's wrong. I think that this visage - this blank, empty, barren aspect - _is_ the true me. The other face, the one I've been wearing for some time now, was the mask. It was a mask that I prefer to my actual self, one that I borrowed from Duo.

But he's taken it back now, and I'm back where I started from.

And I'm still stalling.

I sigh, but finally open the door and step out of the car. I wonder how much of this sordid little tale Catherine has heard; she probably called the apartment yesterday to see why I hadn't come to work, and so may have spoken to Duo. Also, I wouldn't be at all surprised to hear that Quatre called her to clue her into the latest drama.

I hope she's heard it all. I don't want to discuss it again.

I walk behind the tents, carefully stepping over wires and hoses, and let myself into the little trailer Catherine occupies.

I step in and meet her eyes, and know that she has indeed heard. Those eyes are brimming over with concern, caring, sympathy. I don't have to see her pity for me for long, for she rushes at me and throws herself into my arms, hugging me tightly.

"I'm sorry, Trowa," she whispers against my shoulder, and I hear the suffering in her voice. "I'm so sorry."

I run my hand gently along her back, soothing her. "There's nothing to be sorry about," I say automatically. "I don't want you to be upset."

I feel her body shake as she laughs humorlessly. "You shouldn't be comforting me," she protests, pulling back to look up at me.

Her eyes narrow as she stares into my face. I know what she sees, and I know how the sight will affect her, but I can't change it. My mask is gone.

"Oh Trowa," she breathes, her voice catching. "Don't look like that. Please…"

"Catherine," I interrupt, "I have to tell you…"

"I've heard," she interrupts before I can finish. "Trowa, he was wrong. You must be so hurt."

I look away from her for a moment. Still stalling. I want to change the subject, to tell her I'm leaving. Instead, I stand and listen to her comfort me.

"He didn't mean to hurt you, I know he didn't," she assures me. "He was stupid and I could slap him, but I know Duo loves you, Trowa."

I stare impassively at her shoulder. It is not stupid for Duo to pursue what will bring him happiness. I don't want to argue with Catherine, though.

"Do you hear me?" she demands, tugging on my sleeve.

I raise my eyes to hers again, still not replying.

She sighs slightly.

"Trowa…It is all right to be upset," she says.

"I'm not upset," I assure her tonelessly.

It's plain from her face that she doesn't believe me. "And it's ok to be angry," she continues.

"What is there to be angry about?" I ask. Were I to be angry, I would end up railing uselessly at fate. Duo and Heero are not to blame for being themselves.

"What is there to be angry about?" Catherine repeats incredulously, spots of pink appearing on her cheeks. She grabs hold of the material of my shirt near the collar.

"Trowa - you woke up one morning to find that the person you love more than anyone had had sex with someone you consider to be one of your best friends. They both cheated on you, Trowa." She stares steadily into my eyes as she speaks. "They may not have meant to hurt you, but they did. It's not ok for people to hurt you, Trowa," she finishes heatedly, punctuating the last sentence by shaking me gently.

I stare helplessly at her as she continues. "You _should_ feel hurt, you _should_ feel angry. You don't have to blame yourself, Trowa. It's not your fault."

I continue to stare at her. I don't know…I can't…

Tears well up in her eyes, and she throws herself against me again, hugging me hard. "Let yourself hurt, Trowa," she whispers. "Let yourself feel."

People who are blind sometimes have companions that they refer to as their "eyes," people who help guide them, who do things for them, and who describe for them the wonders and the sights that they are unable to see.

For me, Catherine has been my emotions. From the time she met me, she _felt_ for me. She felt my isolation when I joined the circus, felt my sense of hopelessness the night she wounded me with the knives, felt my worry for Heero when he lay wounded, felt my fear when I determined that I too had to self-destruct, felt my remorse and confusion when I sat, silently, before the fire with Wufei after the fiasco at the New Edwards base.

All those times she felt the emotions that I could not name or understand, that I had attempted to block, to keep at bay. She felt them for me, named them, defined them, and gave them back to me so that I could feel them myself. She has given me the opportunity to experience these emotions that everyone else in the world seems gifted with the ability to perceive and endure and grow from throughout their lives.

She's doing it again. Hurt. Betrayal. Anger. Sorrow. All of these emotions are in her eyes, in her voice. I feel them move between her body and mine, feel them transfer themselves to me.

Standing in her embrace, I begin to feel the pain that I have been trying so hard to keep at bay.

 _Duo_.

Hurt.

I tried to be everything he needed, everything he wanted. I should have known that I couldn't be enough, but I tried so hard…

Betrayal.

If I wasn't enough, if he didn't want me, he should have told me, not left me to find out that way…

Anger.

He should have had the courage to face me with his feelings, rather than cheat on me behind my back…

Sorrow.

But I would still rather be in that fool's paradise, believing that Duo loved me, than know beyond all doubt that he doesn't…

I inhale sharply, and pull quickly away from Catherine. I can't let her do this, can't let myself do this. It's ridiculous, pointless. Could have, should have, wish, want, hope….It's all pointless. What's done is done…and this is done.

"Catherine, I'm leaving," I say abruptly. Enough stalling. "I'm going back to L3. I want to find…"

"What?!" she shrieks, interrupting me again. She pulls back and glares wildly up at me. "What do you mean you're leaving? You can't leave! You…"

"I can't stay here, Catherine," I say, a trifle more harshly than I intended. I take another deep breath, and begin again.

"I'm going back to L3 for awhile. I'm looking for…where I came from."

She glares at me, tears gleaming again in her eyes. "You're running away," she accuses coldly.

I stare at her. I have no reply. I'm not running away. I'm trying to find the past. The present makes no sense. The future holds…more of what there has always been. It holds no promise, no hope. Not anymore. Maybe if I can somehow find my past, find where it went wrong…maybe I will find some peace.

I can't vocalize this to Catherine, can't even say it in my head in any way that makes sense.

"I can't believe you're just going to give up like this," she rails at me. "You aren't even going to try to work it out? Doesn't he mean anything to you, Trowa?"

Doesn't he mean anything to me? How can Catherine even ask that? He means more to me than I do, which is why I have to walk away, leave him free to do what he wants without hindrance from me.

"I'm sorry, Catherine," I say. I can hear the blankness of my own voice. "I wanted to say good-bye to you."

"You're staying here at least a day or two," she orders me firmly, abruptly shifting tactics. I assume she believes that, given a few days, she'll be able to convince me of the foolishness of my decision to leave. "Shuttles to the colonies don't leave during the week. You can't go anywhere until at least the day after tomorrow, so you might as well agree now as later and save us both the argument."

How is it that everyone I know is so informed as to the travel procedures between earth and the colonies? Maybe they too have felt, over the years, the pull of outer space, and have, like me, done their best to ignore it.

I nod slowly. I can no more argue with her now than I could with Quatre yesterday. I feel drained, emptier even than I did when I entered this trailer.

"I'm going to go see the lions," I announce briefly, turning and letting myself out before she can say anything more.

I sigh as I head toward the cage. Visiting the lions is a good idea. Noone is more likely to understand my state of mind right now than wild, caged beasts.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> by Shoori

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from Dacia, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [A Little Piece of Gundam Wing](https://fanlore.org/wiki/A_Little_Piece_Of_Gundam_Wing), which closed in 2017. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after July 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [a little piece of gundam wing collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/alittlepieceofgundamwing/profile).

I slam the door to the small trailer open without knocking, not caring about how rude an action is that.

Cathy looks up, startled, then her blue-violet eyes narrow as she sees me.

"Where is he?" I demand without preamble, ignoring the accusation in her eyes.

"Why should I tell you?" she returns rudely.

I sigh. I'm really not in the mood for Catherine Bloom, mother hen, right now. I know I'm an asshole on wheels; she doesn't have to point it out for me.

"Because, Catherine," I say in a low, reasonable voice, "if you don't tell me where he is, I'll tear this whole place apart until I find him."

She glares at me, but she knows I'll do it. Cathy and I actually get along pretty well, usually, and she knows me by now. "He's in the tent, practicing," she finally tells me reluctantly.

I raise a brow at her. He's practicing? I immediately feel better. Maybe then he's decided not to carry out his stupid plan of going back to L3. Quatre told me about that little decision in the plane, and it was all I could do not to wrench the controls out of his hands and fly back myself, at a decent speed.

"I don't know if you should talk to him, though," Cathy continues.

I scowl at her. "Why not?" I demand. "I should just slink away with my tail between my legs and let him play the tragic hero?"

"That's not fair!" she bristles, jumping to her feet. "You don't know how he feels about…"

"I know," I interrupt grimly. "I've broken all ten commandments in one go, and…"

"Well, you broke a few," she snaps.

Despite everything, I grin. "Got me there," I admit ruefully. "So I just need to be assigned my penance, and…"

"Don't think a few Hail Mary's are getting you out of this one," Cathy warns me flatly. I roll my eyes. This conversation is getting way too Catholic.

"He's planning to go to L3," she tells me abruptly.

So he hasn't changed his mind. The heavy, sick feeling I'd been experiencing since Trowa left in the Aries and Quatre first told me of these travel plans, that had just started to go away when Cathy said Trowa was practicing, abruptly returns.

"He can't go to L3," I say flatly. He can't. He can not leave me like that.

"I don't know if you -,"

"The Hell I can't stop him!" I bellow, answering her challenge before she even completes it. I'm not letting him throw away what we have like this. I'm not!

I turn and slam out of the trailer again, heading for the big tent where the circus is held. There are no performances during the week in the off-season, so I assume Trowa is in there rather in the smaller facilities that exist expressly for practice.

I hear the door bang shut behind me, and a moment later hear it open and close again. So Cathy's following me. Bully for her. This will probably be a better show than the circus.

I push my way into the big tent, but stop near the opening, blinking as I allow my eyes to adjust in the dim light. The only illumination in the tent comes from the three big spotlights, all of which are focused on the big ring in the center of the canopied arena.

My eyes are immediately drawn to that area, to the sight before me. The tightrope is set up, along with four trapezes set at a variety of distances from each other. Swinging and flipping and flying from trapeze to trapeze is Trowa, moving with incredible speed, agility and grace.

My chest aches as I stare at him. He's clad in his customary practice outfight of tight black spandex pants and a green T-shirt. The shirt is tucked tightly into the pants, to keep it from flying up and distracting him while he's practicing.

That shirt is a reminder to me of Trowa's deepest-held, most secret suffering, and it hurts me every time I see him in it, see it plastered to his chest with perspiration, hear the other performers kid him about it. Most of the other male performers simply dispense with a shirt while they're working. Trowa, though, never voluntarily goes shirtless, not when practicing, not at the beach, not even when sitting around the house with me. On very infrequent occasions, Cathy bullies him into wearing a costume that doesn't have a shirt, but he's withdrawn and moody for days afterwards. She thinks it's for his own good, thinks it will help him get over his issues, but I really think that it's almost physically painful for him to do it.

He won't let anyone see his back, and it's the one place on his body he doesn't like to be touched. He stiffens, moves my hands…sometimes, even breaks our contact completely if I touch him there. I've never pressed the issue, believing that when he was ready to tell me how he came by those scars, he would. Maybe I should have pressed it.

I continue to stare at him, frowning as I realize that the routine he's performing today is different than what I have seen him do in the past. His legs flex as he pumps them through the air, his hands clinging to the first trapeze. He swings back and forth a few times, gaining momentum, then abruptly lets go, turning several rapid somersaults in the air past the second and the third trapeze before his hands come in stinging contact with the fourth and farthest away. He swings his body upward so that he's practically standing on his hands on the thin bar of the trapeze. Even from here, I can practically see the muscles in his forearms quiver from the strain. He drops down, releasing the bar, catching it with his knees and swinging outward, to grab the next trapeze with his hands. His movements are hard, rapid and ceaseless.

I turn to look at Cathy. "Is he…this isn't how he usually practices, is it?" I've seen him before, and I don't ever recall that it looked like this.

"No," she says flatly, her mouth pressed into a grim line. "It isn't."

"That's…dangerous, isn't I?" I ask, somewhat tentatively.

Her eyes never leave him. "He's going to kill himself," she mutters. "Noone can keep up that pace without slipping eventually."

"We have to stop him!" I announce, panicked, and start to make my way toward the ring.

Cathy grabs my arm, yanking me back unceremoniously. "Don't even say anything," she hisses. "Don't distract him. If you do, he _will_ fall."

So I'm forced to endure what I soon decide is among the most hellish ten minutes of my life. I can't take my eyes off him, can't stop staring as he moves up and around and over and through the straps and wires and bars. Every second, I expect to see his hand slip, see a trapeze move a fraction of an inch too far from his questing grip, see him plummet and crash into the ground below.

At the same time, he is absolutely beautiful. Looking at him fully dressed, you'd never imagine the muscle and power that hides behind his generally loosely draped clothes. But his strength is incredible. He's so graceful that he makes the complex movement seem easy and casual, like a dance held many tens of feet above the ground. Even as I dread seeing him slip and fall, I'm held entranced by the sheer majesty of his movements.

I don't recommend the experience. It's rather unnerving.

Finally, after what seems like forever, his movements finally begin to slow. He hangs from one of the trapezes for a moment, catching his breath. Then he swings over to the ground wire and slides down it, his legs buckling almost imperceptibly as they touch the ground.

Once the spell of his movements is broken, I'm suddenly furious with him.

I sense Cathy melting away behind me. I guess I'm on.

"What was that all about?" I demand, still standing in the same place.

He jumps slightly. I've startled him. Good.

He looks over at where I'm standing and sees me glaring back at him. He stares at me for the briefest of moments, then turns his back and walks over to the side of the ring, where he's left a towel and a bottle of water. He picks up the towel and runs it over his face and through his hair. He takes a long swig from the water then squirts some of it onto his head, toweling the cool liquid over his flushed cheeks

He's ignoring me again. I hate that.

But I also swallow hard when I see the water plaster his hair to his skull, and see it shimmer in rivulets down the side of his neck. I want to lick it off, tasting the contrast between the sweet coolness of the water and his heated, salty skin, want to…

Jesus, Duo, knock it off!

I can't help it. He's really confusing me today.

"Well?" I demand after a moment when he still doesn't answer me. I walk toward the ring, until I'm only standing a few feet from him. "What were you trying to do up there, huh?"

He raises his eyes and looks at me. That look that I hate so much - the blank, expressionless automaton look - is still in them.

"Well?" I repeat again. I hear the shrewish note in my own voice, and make a conscious effort to curb my temper.

"I was practicing," he says softly, his voice as expressionless as his eyes.

"Oh? Why bother if you're taking off for L3?" I demand disbelievingly.

Not even a flicker. He shrugs slightly. That's my only reply. A shrug.

"Why are you going to L3?"

Again. He lifts one shoulder slightly. He shrugged at me. Again.

"Don't you think you're over-reacting a little?" I press, feeling my frustration build.

Great. At least this time his eye twitched slightly when he freaking _shrugged_ at me. So he's still going to refuse to talk to me, but at least I managed to give him a nervous tic. This conversation is going really well

"Well, I think you're over-reacting," I announce, hearing the anger in my voice.

All right. That's it. No more of this shit.

"If you shrug at me one more time, I swear I'll break your damn shoulder," I tell him evenly, glaring at him.

Not even a twitch. His eyes go, if possible, even deader.

Smooth work, Maxwell. Threaten him with physical violence. That'll make him coming running back.

"Trowa…I'm sorry." This isn't going like I planned. "We need to talk about this."

"There's nothing to say," he tells me stolidly.

"There is so!" I shout. "There's a lot to say. Why are you leaving me?"

He actually blinks. Well, he'd better. If he hadn't, I'd despise myself even more for the pathetic, plaintive tone in which I just asked that question. Thank God Wufei wasn't around to hear it.

His eyes lower, and he stares at the packed dirt of the ring. "I told you. I can't stay around knowing you want to be with Heero…"

"Bullshit," I interrupt forcefully.

He looks up at me, and for a moment, there is expression in his eyes. I've managed to startle him. Now if I can just keep him off balance…

"You're afraid," I accuse him. "You're jealous and afraid, and you don't know what to do, so rather than stay and work it out like a grown-up, you're running away to hide in the colonies and…"

"I don't believe you," he interrupts. His voice is quiet and there's no anger in it, but somehow they have at least as much force as my own heated denunciations. "You go to bed with Heero. You expect me to sit and take it quietly. Then, you tell me that _I'm_ a child when I don't want to calmly accept sharing with Yuy. I don't think I'm the only one who needs to grow up."

This is better! He's not yelling at me, but at least he's talking to me, insulting me. This I can work with!

"Share me?" I repeat, latching on to part of his recitation. "I'm not a toy, to be kept away from other kids…"

He makes a noise of disgust and turns away. "Fine, Duo," he says coldly. "I renounce my claim. Go play with whoever you want."

What?! That's not what he's supposed to say!

"Go _play_ with someone else? Are you accusing me of being some easy…"

He turns back toward me and looks at me again. I stop blustering as he stares into my eyes. "I'm not accusing you of anything," he tells me quietly.

Now I feel like a shit again. I know Trowa would never say that to me. I know that it hurts him that I would accuse him of breaking his trust with me like that.

Like I broke my trust with him.

Yikes.

How to fix this?

"Trowa…I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…I didn't realize that…I didn't think."

Well, that's as honest as I get.

He nods. "You didn't think," he repeats dully. He's silent for a moment. He nods again. "You didn't think…about me," he finishes heavily.

God in heaven. He is the most frustrating man I have ever met. He gets an idea in his head and he's like a rottweiler with a bone. He's capable of any contortion of logic in order to make the available data fit his theory.

"That's not what I meant," I growl. "I didn't think that this would bother you like this."

He's still staring at me. "Wouldn't it bother you?"

I think about it for a moment. "I wouldn't leave you," I tell him finally.

"If you found me in bed with Quatre, you'd be fine with it?" he asks disbelievingly.

Ack. Quatre. I've always kind of wondered why Trowa broke it off with Quatre so long ago…wondered if…

I shake my head firmly. "I wouldn't leave you," I repeat meaningfully.

He sighs, shaking his head. "This isn't going anywhere," he mutters. He moves past me, toward the opening of the tent.

"Where are you going?" I demand, chasing after him. "We're not done. I still…" As I'm talking, I reach out and grab his arm, trying to arrest his progress.

As my fingers brush him, he jerks his arm away suddenly and violently. He stops moving, his back to me, his hand cradling the place on his arm where my fingers had touched him although it burns.

I stare at his unyielding back, my mouth open in amazement. He doesn't want me to touch him? He leaves when I try to talk to him? He's…

"Don't, Duo," he finally says, his voice crackling with strain. "Just don't. It's not going to work."

It's not. I'm not going to be able to change his mind. He's really, truly, honestly leaving.

"You promised you would never leave me," I remind him, my voice angry and cold.

He doesn't move, doesn't look at me, doesn't speak.

"You promised," I accuse, my voice hard.

His shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep breath.

"You _promised_ ," I repeat again.

" _You_ promised you would always…would always…"

I have to strain to hear him, hear him struggle to complete the sentence.

He never does. At that moment, Cathy comes running through the tent.

"Duo! Trowa!" she shrieks. My head and Trowa's both jerk up at the same time, instincts instantly alert to the panic in her tone. Her cheeks are deathly pale, her eyes wild with fear. "Come! Come quickly!" she shouts, and turning, runs back outside.

Instantly, our personal woes are forgotten as rigid training kicks in. His legs are longer than mine, but I'm right behind him as we race behind Cathy. She moves like a blur, picking her way past the myriad of obstacles in her path as though they don't exist. She runs up the steps into her trailer, us close on her heels.

Inside the tiny room she stops abruptly, pointing with a trembling finger at the vid screen.

I follow the motion with confusion, wondering what about the vid could induce such horror.

"…live reports now from the scene," a pale, nervous newsman is saying. "We don't know how long the signal will last. John, what can you tell us?"

The scene flashes to a live action report. The reporter in question is very close to the camera, cringing away from the chaos taking place behind him. I see flames, explosions…I see war.

"Peter, this is awful, just awful," he stutters, his professional calm abandoned in his obvious fear. "This is entirely unprovoked, unexpected. They haven't even begun to estimate a death toll yet, but you can see behind me that a quarter of the city has been taken out, and it's not over yet; even now, the city…"

Abruptly, the picture disappears, replaced with a loud crackling noise and static. "John? John! Are you there?" the studio reporter barks, panic evident in his voice. He makes a visible effort to gain control of himself as he realizes the cameras are once again focused in on him.

"For those of you just tuning in, we are covering events now taking place at the city of Manturene in southern Asia. Just moments ago, emergency reports came in from the city that they were being attacked, attacked by a force that the world hasn't seen for several years…"

The picture shifts to pre-recorded footage, apparently the footage that the city had recorded and broadcast in their plea for help.

Both Trowa and I utter the same cry of amazement as we see the footage, drowning out the panicked, strained squawks of the anchor. The shining gold crest, the lethal body of polished steel, the orange shoulder casing, the large, deadly guns…

"…thought to be impossible, but all evidence at the moment indicates that the aggressor is a Gundam!" The announcer's voice breaks on the last word, almost unable to voice it.

Trowa and I stare at each other in horror.

"Heavyarms," he says in a choked voice. "It's Heavyarms."

_______________________________________

"Trowa! Thank God you're here!"

Commander Une sounds panicked. That's enough to upset legions in and of itself.

I push my way into her already crowded office. I had to fight my way through legions of agitated politicians just to get up here, but none of them are in the room now. Only Une, along with Heero, Quatre and Wufei.

Everyone looks very grim.

"What in the Hell is going on here, Une?" I ask her quietly.

She stares at me. "We were hoping that maybe you would know, Trowa," she says.

I stare at her. Certainly she can't mean…

"We've told you a million times, Une," Quatre snaps, his usual sweet, polite face nowhere to be seen. "Heavyarms is gone. We blew him up, along with Sandrock and Deathscythe. Five _years_ ago."

Commander Une thinks I know something about this…this imposter?

I continue to stare at her, unable to believe that she would think I would be involved in such an operation. She wilts visibly under my stare - Une! - and drops into her chair.

"Don't look at me like that, Trowa," she orders, her voice tired. "I know you couldn't have been attacking Manturene - I just saw you a few hours ago, and for all we know that…machine is still there."

"It's fortunate then that I have such an impenetrable alibi," I say coldly.

Une looks up to glare at me. "Can you blame me for wondering, Trowa?" she asks bitterly. "It was Heavyarms! _Your_ Gundam!"

"Heavyarms died five years ago," I remind her unforgivingly. "Duo and Quatre were there when I killed him."

"Killed who?" Duo demands as he pushes his way into the office and slams the door behind him.

I don't reply, which I'm sure annoys him. Probably not as much as my refusal to let him drive here with me annoyed him, but I don't really care.

"Heavyarms," Wufei tells him briefly. "Commander Une here seems to think that Trowa had something to do with the appearance of this Gundam."

"What?!" Duo bellows, glaring at Une. "What kind of bullshit is that, Une? They pay you to come up with half-assed assessments like that?"

"Enough!" Une shouts, half-rising from her seat. "I don't think Trowa had anything to do with this. I just want to know why in the name of all that is sacred his Gundam is decimating southern Asia!"

"Well, I don't think we're going to find any answers in here," Heero says quietly. "Have your people been able to get any information on this thing? Where it came from? Where it's going?"

Une sighs in frustration. "We had no warning of this," she admits, subdued. "We were caught as much by surprise as those poor people in Manturene."

"Why don't we go over to communications and see what they have?" Heero suggests.

Just at that moment, a phone rings on Une's desk. She looks startled - it must be a private line. With obvious reluctance, she picks it up. "Une," she barks into the receiver.

She's silent for a moment. "Because we are just getting information ourselves, Your Majesty," she says in a cold voice.

Heero visibly blanches.

"No!" Une half-shouts in the receiver. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, obviously trying to control herself. "There's nothing for you to do here, Relena. You'll be in the way."

She listens for another moment, and her face hardens. "If you find anyone who anticipated this, Relena, then I'll hand them my job with my compliments," she snaps. "Until then, why don't you stop passing the blame and try to assemble some humanitarian aid for Manturene? I'll do my job; you do yours!"

She slams the phone down so hard in the cradle that I'm sure she damaged something. Heero looks mildly impressed.

"Now," Une says, the strain she's feeling obvious in her voice, "Why don't we go see what they have?"

The melee outside has cleared somewhat; Une's security boys must have finally come through. She leads the way to the other side of the mammoth building. Rows of vidscreens, computers, radar devices and miniature satellites fill the area. People are frantically swarming to and fro, shouting into phones and radios, waving sheaves of documents at each other, jabbing their fingers at specks on screens and monitors. It looks like absolute chaos.

"Wow, they look really shook up," Duo comments.

"Actually, they always look like this," Wufei tells him aside.

Une has latched onto a harassed-looking middle-aged man with a bald spot and a big belly hanging over his belt. He keeps shaking his head emphatically at her. Finally, he throws up his hands in exasperation, turns around and stalks toward one of the monitors. Une turns and motions toward us, and we all follow the man toward the screen.

"This is where he was first spotted," he begins without preamble, pointing to a small yellow dot on the screen. "It's only about ten miles from Manturene - whoever he is, he knew where he was going."

"Why Manturene?" Quatre asks.

The man shrugs over-exaggeratedly. "Why not?" he demands rhetorically. "Probably the most convenient place to his point of origination."

"So where is he coming from?" Quatre presses.

This earns him a scowl. "I don't know, kid," he snaps. "If he came from on-planet…"

"He couldn't be from on-planet," Une interrupts. "Not if that thing really is made of Gundanium."

"It could have been brought in from…" Wufei begins.

Une shakes her head in a decided negative. "We have never allowed Gundanium to be transported on-planet," she reminds him. "We've been monitoring every ship that came from the colonies for five years; there's no way enough Gundanium to build a Gundam could have been smuggled in."

"So what are likely off-planet points of origin?" Quatre asks.

Une's pet expert glares at Quatre. "Well, taking into account current planetary position, and the possible point of entry," he begins.

"Point of entry?" Une snaps. "We saw him enter? Why wasn't I informed?

The man looks as though he would rather be anywhere in the world except for where he is. "Well, er…what we now believe could be the Gundam's point of entry is…Well, at the time we didn't realize it could be an enemy mecha."

"What did you think it was?" Une demands angrily.

He looks even more unhappy. "We…we thought it was a meteor," he admits miserably.

Duo breaks the silence with a loud chuckle. "Irony and deja vu," he croons. "Isn't that just too beautiful for words?"

Une scowls at him, then turns back to her sweating subordinate. "We will discuss this more later," she promises menacingly. "Do we have any clue where it may have come from?

Seemingly glad to have escaped immediate incineration, the expert continues. "Well, judging from that point of entry and current planetary position," he repeats ponderously, "we can pretty much discount the L1 and L5 colonies. None of them are in the right spot at the moment. It could be from one of the L4 clusters, but that's a pretty long shot. Most likely it came from one of four clusters at the L2 and L3 points, but I can't narrow it any further with any confidence."

Duo's home colonies, and mine. Unwittingly, I raise my gaze to him and see him looking at me, worry and consternation in his violet eyes.

"Trowa, you're from L3, correct?" Commander Une asks.

As if she doesn't know….I nod my head jerkily.

"And the Gundam that shows up is modeled after yours…" she continues.

This is just like the war. Those in authority grabbing any chance available to slake the blame off onto someone else.

"Commander Une…" Wufei begins.

"Don't say it, Preventer," she snaps. "I already said that I don't believe Barton has anything to do with this. I'm just trying to establish connections."

She doesn't _believe_ that _Barton_ has anything to do with it. But she doesn't _know_ that _Trowa_ doesn't.

Just like the war.

"So, what now?" Wufei asks finally.

Une scowls and nods sharply at our informant, who scurries away in relief. "We have it on visual," she says finally. "The only thing is…" she pauses. "Well, we have nothing to fight it with except some outdated Taurus' and space Leos," she admits, gesturing back toward the holding area. "I'm still waiting on data scans of the thing, but if it is made of Gundanium, you know as well as I do that it would be suicide to throw our troops at it in them."

We nod. We do indeed know how uneven the odds are between OZ mobile suits and Gundams.

"The best thing to do, I think, is try to keep a visual lock on it," she says. "We have satellite monitors all on call, and a few ships that are ready to follow it once it leaves the atmosphere, so hopefully we can keep tracking it as it moves into different ranges. If we're lucky, we'll be able to discover where it came from, or at least where it's going."

Quatre and Heero nod thoughtfully, apparently approving the strategy. The rest of us, the ones who were more fighters than strategists, just continue to stare at her.

"Meanwhile, we should activate our base in outer space," she continues.

Heero scowls. "What base in outer space?" he demands.

Une looks uncomfortable. "We…uh…Well, we have established a center of operations in outer space, in the event it should be needed."

"What?!" Heero bellows. "Do you know how many agreements that violates? When the Hell did this happen?"

"Five years ago," Une snaps. "It was utterly impractical to try to run that last skirmish from earth. We need a location there."

Heero runs a hand through his already disheveled hair. "I don't believe this!" he rages. "Who the hell knows about this?"

"Not a lot of people," Une tell him meaningfully. "I'd like to keep it that way."

"How did you manage to hide it?" Heero asks, sounding genuinely curious.

Une looks at him scornfully. "Creative accounting," is all she says.

There's silence for a moment, broken only by Heero's soft curses.

"Anyway…" Quatre breaks in as the awkward silence lengthens. I look at him sharply - he has a nervous vaguely guilty expression on his face. My eyes narrow as I stare at him. He glances up and meets my eyes, but looks quickly away. Interesting.

"Yes. We should all get up there as soon as possible," Une says briskly. "I think we'll take the space Leos; I'll try to contact Noin and Zechs and see…"

"We?" Duo interrupts. I'm glad he said it before I had to.

Une looks startled. "What?"

"You expect…I mean, you want us to be involved in this?"

Now Une looks staggered. "Of course…I…That is, how are we going to fight Gundams without all of you?"

I look around at the others. Of them all, only Wufei looks grimly resigned. Everyone else looks as astounded as I feel.

Heero scowls. "I haven't been to space in…"

"…five years," Duo finishes softly.

I say nothing. This is not how I wanted to return to outer space.

"But…But you will go, won't you?" stammers Une, looking aghast at the thought that we won't.

"Another war," Heero murmurs, suddenly looking far older than his twenty-one years.

Quatre looks distressed. "I thought we were done with this…" he murmurs sadly, his blue eyes mournful.

"This saving the world bit is getting pretty old, man," Duo tells the room at large.

"I will go, Commander," Wufei says quietly.

Quatre nods convulsively. "I…I will too," he manages, looking sick.

Heero closes his eyes briefly, pain written all over his features. "Me too," he mutters quietly, reluctance apparent in his tone.

Duo rubs a tired hand across his forehead. "Guess there's nothing else for it!" he announces, his voice ringing hollow with false cheerfulness. "The God of Death is back in business!"

My stomach lurches when he says that. Oh, no. Please…don't make him do this. Don't make us do this. How many times do we have to bail humanity out of messes that their own intrinsic evil qualities have caused? How many times do we have to risk our lives for people who don't care about us at all, who don't appreciate the sacrifices we've made, who feel that they are simply entitled to everything we do for them?

Everyone's staring at me.

I don't want to do this.

But more than that, I don't want them to do this.

Suddenly I realize they all feel the same.

Well, damn.

"I don't know about you guys," I begin slowly, "but I'm not going unless I get a Taurus. As I remember, those space Leos are crap."

Quatre smiles, Wufei actually chuckles, and everyone else visibly relaxes.

"All right," Une says briskly, "Let's get off planet before anyone has a chance to ask me any questions."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> by Shoori

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from Dacia, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [A Little Piece of Gundam Wing](https://fanlore.org/wiki/A_Little_Piece_Of_Gundam_Wing), which closed in 2017. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after July 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [a little piece of gundam wing collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/alittlepieceofgundamwing/profile).

I lean back in one of the plush seats and sigh, bracing myself. We're about to exit earth's atmosphere, and even in a carrier ship the size of this one, that's always a bumpy, uncomfortable operation.

What a day. I mentally catalogue its progression in my mind, trying to be sure I don't leave anything out.

 **7:30 am:** I woke up in Relena's bed.

 **1:00 p.m.:** I went back to the old Barton complex, and activated Wing's self-destruct.

 **1:10 p.m.:** I had to explain to all my friends that I wasn't trying to destroy myself, just my links to the past.

 **6:30 p.m.:** I went back to Sank, and broke up with my wife.

 **6:42 p.m.:** My first fifteen minutes of freedom were interrupted when an emergency newsflash came over the radio that a Gundam was attacking Asia.

 **7:00 p.m.:** I rushed straight to Preventer headquarters with Quatre and Wufei, intent on figuring out what was going on.

 **7:05 p.m.:** I discovered that there was indeed a Gundam in Asia.

 **7:35 p.m.:** I found out that Une had a space base all set up and waiting for just such an occasion, in violation of treaties and oaths and public promises.

I scowl as I think of that. Not only did she have this illegal base, she didn't tell me. When I attempted to remonstrate with her about it, she informed me brusquely that she was busy, and didn't have time for arguing with me.

That's when I found out who knew about it.

Powerful potentate that he is, Quatre Raberba Winner is a sap when it comes to his friends. He can manage to conceal things from us for all of about twenty-seven seconds. Then he cracks.

He cracked when Une went stalking away after she brushed me off.

He knew about the base. _He_ knew about the base!

Not only did he know about it, he had helped her arrange the funding, and had even given her a place to locate it.

The Preventers' secret space installation was located a hop, skip and a jump from Quatre's home colony.

He'd signed a treaty with her, allowing her to locate it there.

Their supplies came from a Winner family resource satellite.

Not only had Quatre authorized the placement of this base, he was profiting from it.

Not that I really think that that was his motive. Well, not his entire motive. But he knew! He knew, and he didn't tell any of us. That really annoys me on some level.

Anyway.

 **7:50 p.m. :** I was drafted into yet another war, pulled back into a past that I thought I had exorcised for good not ten hours before.

 **8:00 p.m. - 11:30 p.m.:** I got to deal with vast masses of unhappy, enraged, frightened people who all had the same goals: first, to demand that we solve the problems suddenly besieging the world, and second, to prevent us from doing anything that we were trying to do to solve the problems suddenly besieging the world.

One of those people was my darling wife.

I almost groan aloud as I think of that little scene…

"I refuse to allow it," Relena says coldly, her hands folded in her lap as she sits in one of the straight-baked chairs in Une's office.

Une's face flushes, obviously trying desperately to hold onto her composure. "Relena, we have to do our best to engage it at a point as far from the earth as possible," she points out. "If we can get a fix on it, we an intercept it from space; hopefully, we can keep it from coming back to this planet at all."

"And in the process you plan to take all of our defenses all the way out to L4?" Relena asks dubiously. She shakes her head. "Unacceptable."

I debate opening my mouth. Technically, Relena can't forbid us to do anything. The Preventers are supported by money from many nations, not just Sank. The force is based here, and Relena is tacitly recognized as a head of the Preventers because of her dedication to pacifist causes and her role in founding the organization. However, Relena's role is more of a figurehead than anything else. It's a very murky subject as to who actually holds the authority to sanction or deny Preventer actions. The only one who really has any clear authority is Une, and her power really hasn't been tested yet. Relena, if she played her cards right, could make things very difficult, politically. And if there's anything Relena's good at, it's political intrigue.

Une knows all that as well as I do, which is why she's obviously trying to avoid openly challenging Relena. "We can protect the Earth far more effectively from that old manufacturing satellite of Quatre's than we can here, Relena," she points out.

Quatre's old manufacturing satellite. How generous of him to offer it. But some sort of fabrication was necessary - the existence of a secret military installment is definitely something that should be kept from Relena.

Relena shakes her head firmly, stubbornly refusing to heed Une's logic.

"Miss Relena," Quatre interjects softly. Relena turns her head somewhat unwillingly. Quatre has become something of a political force himself over the last several years. She can't just ignore him with impunity.

"Miss Relena, at this point, with what we have, we can't defend the earth even if we stay here," he tells her gently. "We don't have enough weapons to be effective against a Gundam. If we stay here and try to fight it, we'll all be killed."

Relena's eyes widen softly, and her gaze sweeps across the room, touching each of our faces. For the second time today, I catch a quick glimpse of the girl she used to be, before that girl was swallowed up by the Queen.

"But…but how will you succeed any better in space?" she falters.

"We have more space weapons that earth ones," he tells her. "We have the chance to fight offensively rather than defensively, which will strengthen our position. If it becomes absolutely necessary," he continues reluctantly, "We can manufacture more weapons more easily in space than here on earth."

"Surely it won't come to that!" she cries, aghast.

"We hope not," Quatre says seriously, his blue eyes earnest. "But it's going to take much longer if we sit here on Earth, waiting for _it_ to come to _us_."

Relena's gaze remains locked with his for a moment, and her struggle is apparent on her face. "Very well," she manages after a moment. "Une, you may go, and you may take two of these pilots with you. Heero and the other two will remain here on Earth, to oversee operations in your absence…"

Most of the rest of her sentence is drowned out as several voices raise loudly in protest. Wufei's face darkens with anger, Duo jumps up from his seat protesting loudly, and Commander Une shakes her head so vigorously that I wonder absently if she made herself dizzy. Quatre waves his hand, trying to get Relena's attention. I stand, waiting for the din to die down before I say my piece.

The only one who doesn't speak is Trowa. He remains in the same position he has been in through the entire conversation, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, face set in that expression of studied blankness. But even his empty gaze is fixed firmly on Relena, and I feel that he will not easily accept being left on Earth.  
But I can't ponder Trowa's wishes for too long. I can't be distracted by that now.

"Relena," I say quietly, my voice cutting through the last of the protests.

She looks at me defiantly, obviously determined not to change her mind.

"We can't send half a force against an unknown enemy," I tell her evenly. "They'll be killed. Then the enemy will return to Earth and we'll be killed."

Talking so bluntly about the possibly consequences of failure shakes her. She wouldn't be swayed by any thought of personal danger; she believes herself to be immortal. But danger to more expendable people she can believe.

"We can't leave Earth undefended," she maintains.

I shake my head at her. "You can't send half a force against an unknown enemy," I repeat. I wave my hand, encompassing everyone in the room in the gesture. "Don't waste their lives because of what has happened between us."

Perhaps that wasn't tactically sound. Now she looks angry.

"How dare you accuse me of…"

"Don't waste _my_ life because of what happened between us," I interrupt.

She glares at me, her lips pursed. "If I refuse?" she asks challengingly.

I shrug. "We take it to the World Council, and delay everyone's departure. They decide in their own sweet time. Meanwhile, the enemy has time to regroup, and possibly attack again. An amazing amount of bad publicity is generated for the World Council, the Preventers, the Sank Kingdom, and all of us personally. Possibly, many people die because of the delay."

Her frustration is apparent. "How can I argue?" she spits angrily. "You have me backed into a corner - you place the blood of innocents on my hands if I refuse to allow you to leave the world defenseless."

I smile sadly at her. "Welcome back, Relena," I say softly.

"To what?" she demands furiously.

I sigh. "To war."

War. Again.

That's about it for my list. That's the end. War.

Why is that always the end result? How am I - are we - constantly dragged into one bloody mess after another?

I open my eyes as I sense a presence near me, and see Duo plop into the seat next to mine. Trowa gets up out of a chair across the area, and quietly exits to another part of the ship.

Speaking of bloody messes…

"I feel like I'm playing god-damned hide and go seek," Duo grouses. "Every time I walk into a room, he walks out of it. It'd be damned funny if it didn't piss me off so much."

I sigh. The trip to the base is going to take several days. This carrier is huge, with several sections for storage, maintenance, living quarters, meeting rooms and so on, but I have the uncomfortable feeling that it's going to feel very close before much time passes.

"I'm sorry," I say miserably. This is all my fault. I am the reason behind the schism between Duo and Trowa.

"What?" Duo asks, startled.

"I'm sorry," I repeat. "I know it's my fault…"

"Hey, hey, wait," he interrupts. "You still thinking that, Heero? It's not your fault."

I blow out my breath in disbelief. "I'm the one who got drunk and…and…well…hit on you," I manage. I feel myself blushing, feel my face get even hotter when he grins.

"Is that what you did?" he muses pensively. "I thought you…"

"You know what I mean!" I interrupt, flustered.

He chuckles. "I know what you mean," he concedes. He leans back in his seat, stretching his arms up and lacing his fingers together behind his head. "It's not your fault, Hee-chan," he says softly, not looking at me. "It's a problem between us. Trowa…Well, let's just say that I didn't think Trowa would react like this."

I swallow. And if he had, he wouldn't have done it, I finish in my head. What a price to pay for pity sex.

"Did you…Were you able to talk to him after you left us?" I ask tentatively.

He laughs mirthlessly. "Yeah, it was real informative," he says sarcastically. "He thinks I never loved him, he doesn't want me to touch him, and he was planning on leaving the planet and running back to L3."

"Back to L3?" I repeat, dazed.

Duo nods. "Be careful what you wish for, huh?" he asks dryly.

"Why was he going to L3?" I ask, frowning, trying to make sense of all this.

Duo turns his head and raises a brow at me. "Why were you blowing things up at the ol'battlefield this morning?" he asks significantly.

I blush again, but nod my understanding. Of course. Trowa has demons to exorcise too.

"Anyway…He doesn't want anything to do with me," Duo finishes gloomily.

I stare straight ahead of me. I have no idea what to say. Despite Duo's reassurances, I am sure that this is a breach that is, at the least, mostly my fault; a breach that was caused by my actions.

Duo sighs loudly, and stands up. "I don't know about you, but I'm getting some shut eye," he announces. "It's been a bitch of a day."

I nod my agreement, and murmur a farewell as he wanders away, leaving me alone.

My marriage has ended.

I had about six hours of being at peace with my past.

The world has been plunged once again into mobile suit warfare.

Two of my best friends have a rift between them that is possibly permanent, because of me.

I'm doing what I can to help with the world-level crises. I must also do my part to try to ease our more personal dilemmas.

I have to talk to Trowa.

Ninmu ryoukai.

I stand up, and sway suddenly. I glance at my watch; it's after two in the morning.

Tomorrow. I'll talk to Trowa tomorrow.

I have the grim feeling that I'm going to need to be fully rested for this mission.

______________________________________

Scowling, I wander through the large hanger area of the carrier, past the huddled bulk of the mobile suits we'll be using in the upcoming battle. I woke up this morning afire to complete my mission.

My determination has been thwarted by the object of that mission himself.

I can't find Trowa.

We're all on a ship, hurtling through outer space. Admittedly, it's a big ship. But it's not that big - I should be able to find one lone man aboard the carrier.

But I can't find him.

He wasn't in the room that was assigned to him.

He didn't come to breakfast.

He wasn't at lunch, and everyone denied seeing him.

It's almost as though he has somehow caught wind of my mission, and is trying to prevent it.

If that's the case, I can't say I don't know why.

I have been over this carrier four times. The first two times I made my search, I followed the same path. The third time, I realized that if he were trying to elude me, I would have a better chance of success should I vary my search pattern. So I randomly selected sections of the ship to search, changed levels at odd intervals, backtracked several times. The third and the fourth circuits have, therefore, taken far longer than they should have.

But it hasn't done any good. I still haven't found him.

I'm starting to get paranoid.

Just as I'm about to embark on ship circuit number five, I see a flicker of movement at the far end of the area.

It's only a slight motion. If I'd been looking in the opposite direction, I might have missed it.

I don't even know that it's him. It could be a mechanic, or a soldier or a janitor. It could be my own imagination. I should investigate before I assume it's him.

But he might get away.

"Trowa!" I shout, at the top of my lungs.

Maybe I don't need to be quite so loud. But damn it, my feet are starting to hurt from hiking all over this damned ship.

Staring at the spot where I saw the motion, I see nothing. No further evidence that anyone was there. Maybe I did imagine it after all.

Just as I'm about to go and check to make sure that no one is there before I embark on yet another tour of the latest in carrier models, Trowa steps out from behind one of the mobile suits.

I can't believe it. Finally!

I stride purposefully toward where he's standing, arms again folded protectively across his chest. Now I can accomplish my mission, can tell him.…

…

Shit!

I never thought about what I'm going to say to him! I was so intent on finding him that I never even considered what I would do when I did.

What in the Hell can I say to him?

I stop a few feet from his still form, hoping that my face doesn't show the sudden panicked confusion my brain is experiencing.

"Can I…talk to you?" I ask hesitantly.

He stares at me for a moment. I marvel - not for the first time - at the incredible, vibrant, emerald green color of his eyes. Well, of his eye. His hair hangs neatly and impenetrably over one side of his face, completely shielding that eye from view.

Even if I can't heal what has happened between him and Duo, I hope I can wipe that look off his face, if only for a minute. This tense, guarded, silent person is not the Trowa Barton that I have come to know over the course of the last five years of peace.

He's still staring at me. He hasn't answered my question. Does his silence signal agreement, or refusal? Insufficient data.

"Can I?" I repeat.

His expression doesn't change, but he jerks his head once, in affirmation.

Ok. Now…

"I wanted to talk about….about the other night."

Good one, Yuy. He probably thought you planned to discuss the price of tea on L5, but now he's on the right track.

I'm such an idiot.

I might as well have started in on my dissertation on tea, though, for all the reaction I get. He just keeps staring at me with the same closed-off look in his eyes.

"Duo didn't….I mean, it wasn't his idea. It was all me."

I stare intently at him, sure that he has to visibly react in some way to the news that I, his friend, wantonly and purposely seduced his lover. But I see nothing. Determined to get some type of response, I plunge on.

"I was drunk. And…," I feel myself redden. I thought this was humiliating when I was thinking about it inside my head; saying it out loud is pure mortification. "Well, I was pretty pathetic. He felt sorry for me, so…"

"So he had sex with you."

The remark is delivered in a completely flat tone, robbed of all inflection. I can't tell if it's meant as a question, sarcastically, or as a statement of fact. The third option is the correct one, though, so after a moment I decide to proceed on the assumption that Trowa has finally come to see the situation for what it is.

"Yes," I nod. "I asked him for something, and he didn't refuse me because we're friends. It was…" I stumble to a halt, unable to continue looking him in the eye while I admit what it was. "It was…sympathy sex," I manage, staring at the floor. "A pity f-"

I don't even get to finish my confession. Suddenly, my feet leave the ground and I find my back slammed against the metal side of one of the mobile suits. I gasp as my air supply is cut off by the combined pressure of Trowa's fist and my own shirt collar twisted around my neck. Trowa's face looms in very close to my own, so close that I have trouble focusing on him. His hair is brushed to the side by the rapidity of his movement and the expression in his eyes is no longer blank or detached; rather, it's furious.

"I've always respected you, Yuy," he tells me evenly. Frighteningly, his voice is still devoid of any feeling, in sharp and eerie contrast to his blazing eyes and contorted face. "Even after I found that you obviously don't feel the same loyalty to me that I felt to you, I still respected you."

I struggle, trying to push him away so I can breathe. He loosens his grasp enough to allow me to breathe, but not enough to allow for speech.

"I respect how you always finish what you start. You complete your mission, whatever the cost. I respect your dedication."

Why is he talking about my "dedication?"

The rage in his eyes begins to cool, and his upper lip curls in a sneer as he stares at me. "Frankly, Heero, at this point that's about all I respect about you. So don't lose it now." He's silent for a moment, as if considering his words. "When you sleep with someone - someone you know, someone you have a history with - you create certain expectations, whatever the circumstances it happened under. You have a responsibility to that person," he explains coldly

What's he talking about? What happened that night wasn't something that 'created' anything for anyone. Duo only did it because I asked him too. It wasn't anything bigger than that to him.

I try to shake my head, try to indicate to Trowa that he is mistaken, that he has interpreted what happened wrongly. He pulls me forward slightly, then slams me back against the mobile suit again, my head banging painfully against the hard metal. Damn! He's stronger than he looks - he hasn't even broken a sweat yet.

"Don't even try to downplay what happened - what you did," he orders tersely. "Do not cheapen Duo."

Cheapen Duo? I'm not cheapening Duo; Hell, if anything, I'm cheapening me.

"Duo's felt bad for people lots of times. He doesn't jump into bed with them to make them feel better," he continues relentlessly. "If he slept with you, that means that his feelings for you are deeper than empathy, deeper than friendship even."

I really think he's reading too much into it. I open my mouth to tell him so, but he tightens his grip on my shirt again, and my words are arrested as I squawk for air.

He moves his face even closer to mine and speaks very slowly, emphasizing each word. "Duo doesn't give himself lightly. Don't suggest that he does. If you say - if you believe - that he slept with you without feeling, you insinuate that you did the same - that you slept with him although he doesn't mean anything to you."

He's really thought about this way too much. He's attributing motives and beliefs to me that I couldn't possibly have conceived of, considering the state of inebriation that I was in when all this happened.

Trowa's expression goes blank again, and his eyes are cold and dead as they bore into mine. "If you are playing with him, Heero…if he means nothing to you…if you have done this to me with no cause other than momentary satisfaction of your own hormones, I swear," he pauses, and when he continues, his voice lowers menacingly. "I swear, I will make you very, very sorry."

That's the second time in two days that someone has warned me that I am going to be "very, very sorry." It's starting to make me a little uneasy.

His gaze holds mine for a moment, allowing me to read the truth of his threat in his eyes. His fist tightens for a moment, then he throws me aside, dismissing me in the most unsubtle of ways. I find myself hurtling through the air and feel the sharp, jarring impact as I land ingloriously on my backside on the ground.

I look up from where I'm sprawled on the floor, but Trowa is gone.

I lean back, lowering myself so I'm lying on the dusty floor. Talk about Mission Failure. I completely failed to patch things up between Duo and Trowa. The only thing that's different is that I have a sore throat, an aching ass, and have gone from being convinced that I know exactly what has happened and why to being utterly confused.

It looks like this is going to be another great day.

_________________________________________

Space. It's been five years since I've been here. Five years since I've had to face the gigantic, cold emptiness that is the backdrop of all that exists.

I still have nightmares about it. I dream of floating through blackness, able to see nothing, hear nothing but the harsh rasping of my own breathing, feel nothing.

That was the worst. There was no sensation. I couldn't feel my suit or my body within the suit, couldn't feel the air circulate through my helmet or move through my lungs, couldn't feel any pain from the explosion that destroyed my machine. Nothing.

I feel like that now.

I tighten my grip on my knees and dig my chin harder against them, trying to assure myself that I can feel, that physical sensations aren't lost to me. I close my eyes tightly and my ears ring with a faint swishing sound - the sound of my heart beating. I press my back against the steel behind me, feeling its coldness seep through my thin uniform shirt.

There's very little room for me up here, up against the ceiling of the loading area of the carrier. There's no ladder or stairs up to here. That didn't hinder me - I haven't spent years practicing on tightropes in the circus for nothing. I need to be here because it's one of the only places on this ship you can actually see out. We're moving through space, surrounded by space, and there's only a handful of places on the whole ship you can actually _see_ space.

I'm hiding here. I don't know how long I've been sitting here - I'm sure at least a day - and I finally have to admit it. If I were just here for peace, or solitude, I'd have left long ago.

I'm hiding from them all. From Wufei, with his sharp gaze, trying to peer into the heart of what's wrong with me, so he can fix it.

From Quatre, whose blue eyes brim with concern, sympathy and sorrow every time he looks at me.

From Heero, whose air of bewildered, dejected guilt has begun to seriously exasperate me.

But mostly, I'm hiding from Duo.

Duo.

I've tried not to think about him, tried desperately. But trying to attain such a goal is like trying to hold your hand perfectly still - the more you try, the more it trembles. I've learned that in my years with the circus. Stillness must come not from the absence of movement, but from total movement - every part of your body must move in synch with every other part, with the sway of the rope, with the brush of the breeze. So here, in my refuge, staring at the faraway stars, I've tried to apply that knowledge to my present situation.

Instead of trying _not_ to think of Duo, I've thought of nothing _but_ him.

The first time I kissed him.

The first time we fought.

The day we moved in together.

His inexplicable fondness for slapstick comedy.

The many times I tried to convince myself that the ghostly, half-formed presence of Heero Yuy in our lives was just a product of my own imagination.

Our last, aborted night together.

The other morning, when I left our empty bed to find him lying naked beside Heero.

As that image flashes through my mind for the umpteenth million time in the last few days I wince, reflexively. The other pictures in my mind I've come to be able to deal with, over the course of the last hours alone. I can think of Duo smiling at me over morning coffee; lying, cheeks flushed, among all the tousled glory of his unbound hair, bounding ahead of me into the tent at the circus, eager to see the new home for my lions…I can think of all of that with scarcely a pang.

But whenever I think of that moment that I stepped through the door and realized what I was seeing I feel a tearing pain in my chest, feel it move down through my body, feel it clench in my stomach and cramp my back.

I don't like it.

I force myself to think of it again and again, certain that with repetition I'll grow used to it, that the pain will fade and eventually disappear completely. But it doesn't.

If anything, it grows. My neck is growing cramped, my head pounds, my throat aches. And I can't forget that picture. Duo, eyes wide with surprise and alarm, hair down - _down_! - around his shoulders, his hand resting on Heero's…

I lash out suddenly, my fist arcing around viciously to slam into the steel beside me. My hand spasms from the sudden violent pain. It's different - it's an external pain - I know its source, I know how to stop it.

But I don't.

I slam my hand into the metal again and again, harder and harder. The dull banging reverberates through the still hull, as I swing my arm more vehemently and violently, mindlessly beating the unfeeling steel.

I stop this destructive action only when the sudden excessive movement offsets my balance, and I nearly topple from my precarious perch. The muscles in my body react instinctively - the hand that was just beating the steel scrabbles for finger holds, the soles of my feet press harder onto what purchase they can find, and I abruptly shift my center of balance backwards. My sudden spill forward is arrested; after a moment I carefully pull myself backward and I am safe again.

I stare at my already swelling hand and begin to laugh hollowly as that thought crosses my mind. _Safe_. Not damn likely.

I think I'm going crazy.

I close my eyes and drop my head to my knees. This has to stop. I can't continue like this. Why is the loss of Duo affecting me like this? When did I come to need him so desperately that I can't do without him?

My entire life was barren, as far back as I could ever remember. There had never been anyone who cared about me, and I believed that I never wanted there to be. I was alone, but I was free. Noone needed me, but I needed noone. I was convinced that that was the only way to live.

Then I met them.

Even then, I was determined not to need them, or even want them near me. I spurned Quatre when he offered me help, coldly telling him I could handle my mission on my own. I didn't realize then that he wasn't casting aspersions on my abilities, but offering me the assistance of his.

The first of the pilots to make any lasting impression on me was Heero. I couldn't tell you, even now, why I picked him up and carried him away from the scene of his self-destruct. In the months that followed, I thought he was crazy. I couldn't understand why someone would offer up their own life in penance for a mistake. But the puzzle intrigued me - in trying to understand him, I found myself grow closer to any person than I had ever been.

That was the beginning - from that time on, I was no longer alone. I was Trowa Barton, Pilot 03, one of a team.

When Duo and Quatre and I destroyed our Gundams on that hillside, I felt the chill of the old loneliness. I was no longer part of that team - my Gundam was gone. I was once again a nameless, aimless nobody.

But Duo and Quatre banished that feeling. To them, they promised, I would always be Trowa. Several years later, Duo affirmed it. I would always be _his_. We would always be together.

And then…I feel a shudder run through my body. The person who first drew me into the world of other people and the person that had promised he would keep me there betrayed me - with each other.

Duo thinks I'm overreacting. Wufei, I think, rather agrees - or at least thinks I'm being overly melodramatic in my method of dealing with it. Wufei would either challenge them both to battle or be fiercely cold and bitter for a length of time until he decided that the crime had been adequately repented. Quatre doesn't know what to think. I don't know what Heero thinks.

What do I think? I think I have never felt so alone, so empty. I was accused once, when I was younger, of _being_ empty, of having nothing or noone that I cared about, noone that I would sacrifice to protect. My response then was that I was not empty - that I was but a traveler, in search of a place to call home.

And I found that place. I found a family with my fellow pilots. I found a home - a place where I finally belonged - in Duo. Now that it's gone, I feel its absence far more keenly then ever before. Something that's missing, but has never been experienced, can never be longed for so powerfully as something that was possessed, but taken away.

I've lost my home.

I've lost my heart.

I've lost Duo.

I lift my head slowly, and stare out at space. I've lost everything. That's what I came here to realize, to accept. I can go now, can engage in this useless, stupid fight to protect people that I never knew and no longer care about, because there are no longer any stakes. I quite literally have nothing left to lose.

I stretch toward the ladder, feeling the strain in my incredibly stiff muscles. I must have been here longer than I realized.

I begin, slowly, to descend the ladder. I have to see what's been going on. We must be nearing the base. There's no longer any need to hide. I have found my answers in my loss of everything else.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> by Shoori

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from Dacia, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [A Little Piece of Gundam Wing](https://fanlore.org/wiki/A_Little_Piece_Of_Gundam_Wing), which closed in 2017. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after July 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [a little piece of gundam wing collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/alittlepieceofgundamwing/profile).

I thought that I would be safe from this sort of thing if I stayed away from women.

I can't tell Quatre that. He would shake his head at me in amused exasperation, and tell me that my Old World roots were showing again.

Old World roots. Even ignoring the fact that we're both colony brats, having the heir to an emirate accuse _me_ of being overly patriarchal is a bit ironic at best.

Actually, I guess he's actually not the heir to an emirate - I guess he is the emir. His family eschewed the title years ago, but there are many who remember. Witness the Maguanac Corps.

I don't really think you can blame my upbringing, anyway. Ancestral traditions or no, noone who had spent any time with some of the female elders of my clan could reasonably assert that women had no power or influence in our family.

I believe my opinions on the female gender to be based on facts carefully catalogued from my observations. Women, on the whole - at least in my experience - tend to be illogical. Witness Relena and her constant attempts to completely disarm the world. They allow their emotions to overpower them at exactly the wrong times. Witness Noin and her behavior in the last major battle of the war. They tend to attach themselves to people, rather than causes. Witness Une, and her surrender after the death of Treize. They stubbornly stick to the course of action they believe will bring them success, regardless of actual facts. Witness Dorothy, and her disastrous command of the mobile doll forces.

I am not attempting to argue that men are without faults. However, the errors men make, as a group, at least tend to be based on miscalculation, rather than excessive emotion.

I feel myself shudder. Quatre turns slightly and looks at me curiously, and I smile at him. He turns, reassured. Excessive emotion. Nothing is more distasteful to me. There are emotions that can be shared - that are honorable, even. Anger. Loyalty. The thirst for justice, and for revenge.

Then there are emotions that are private. Love. Fear. Sorrow. Heartbreak. I have no quarrel with the emotions themselves, or even with sharing them. You let your lover know of your feelings. When a friend hurts you, you allow him to see your pain. If your beloved betrays you, he must be allowed to feel the heartbreak he has caused. However, it is unseemly to allow these emotions to be visible to all and sundry. It cheapens them, sullies them as it sullies those who display them so wantonly.

I wish someone would explain that to my friends.

I scowl impartially at them all. Unfortunately, noone notices. Finally, after five miserable days of travel and two days of planning, arguing and training at this base, we've finally got something that may lead us to this mysterious Gundam. If Une ever decides to show up and tell us what it is.

I scowl again. We're all seated in the small conference room at Commander Une's base, waiting for the Commander to put in an appearance. When we entered the room, several chairs were arranged in a neat circle. Quatre immediately sat down in one. Duo knocked one out of place, plopped into it, and appropriated another as a foot rest. I pulled my chair behind Quatre's to a position where I could see the door, and sat. Heero arranged his, I notice, so that he could carefully observe both the door and Duo. Trowa came in, looked at the chairs, and crossed the room to lean against the wall behind everyone else. I can see him in my peripheral vision, but everyone else would have to turn to observe him. Everyone is very carefully not doing so. In fact, everyone is very carefully not looking at anyone. The only conversation is Quatre's careful remarks to Duo, who replies with his usual careless exuberance. Apparently he thinks noone notices how he's practically vibrating with nervous energy.

I close my eyes briefly, and rub my forehead. Really, it's like being with a group of histrionic women. Yuy, usually the most collected of us all, has been wandering around for days looking like a lost pup. He talks quietly with Maxwell, stares hopefully at Barton, nervously skittering away when he receives the inevitable cold green glare.

Maxwell flitters around like he hasn't a care in the world, casually flirting with an increasingly confused Heero, cracking jokes with Quatre, irritating me like I haven't been irritated in years, discussing plans reasonably and efficiently with Commander Une, and even, when he's feeling especially brave, directing casual remarks and comments to Barton, seemingly unfazed when he's met with stony silence.

Barton is the picture of stoic despair. He's the one who should be irritating me the least, but, paradoxically, is annoying me the most. If you didn't know him well, you wouldn't know anything was wrong with him, though you might wonder how so profoundly antisocial an individual managed to function. He speaks hardly at all. After he suddenly emerged from his little disappearing act on the transport - noone could find him for more than two days, days during which Quatre nearly had a quiet nervous breakdown - he closeted with Une and planned the entire first step of our operation here in space. He's done more work in mobilizing this base than anyone else. When Une finally admitted that she wasn't going to be able to find Zechs and Noin in time, Barton almost single-handedly began training what soldiers we have. He's missed more meals then he's attended, working late into the night poring over maps and satellite images. It was his idea to reactivate the search satellites on all the main colonies to look for any anomalies, hoping to regain the track of the Gundam, which we lost several days ago.

He's been ceaselessly efficient, calm, perfect. No shadow of emotion has crossed his impassive face. He hasn't sunk into any of the displays of raw emotion that constantly threaten to erupt over Duo or even Heero.

It's that…nothingness…that's bothering me, I think. When he looks at Duo, or Heero, you'd expect something. A tightening of a muscle. A shadow in the eyes. A fleeting expression of regret or anger or…something. This total lack of display of any emotion whatsoever would make me rather nervous coming from any of the pilots. From Maxwell, I would think he was dead and begin planning the funeral. But from Barton, it's even more profoundly disturbing.

It's always been hard for him to trust. Even I, always so impatient with any flowery emotion, instinctively knew that it was even harder to get close to Barton than to the rest of us. I, like the others, sensed that one would have to work to gain the trust of this pilot.

I scowl again, as I force myself to admit what's troubling me. I'm afraid. Afraid that this betrayal has been too much. Afraid that something in Barton that was unspeakably fragile and delicate and already damaged has been ruthlessly killed, and is dead, forever. Afraid that he may never again be able to be close to anyone. Afraid that he will be truly alone, for the rest of his life. That would be a terrible thing.

So because I am afraid for him, I'm angry with him. Now who's unreasonable?

And who's womanish!? I shift abruptly in my seat, angry with myself. There's a war going on, a war with an unknown and dangerous enemy. And I'm worrying about people's little feelings! Weakness!

Quatre turns again, and regards me quizzically. I don't bother to summon a false smile this time - it's not like I'm hiding anything from him anyway. A faint smile touches his lips as he notes my sullen expression. He winks at me, and calmly turns around again. I feel an answering smile brush across my lips. Yes. This, at least, is definitely a good thing.

The door bangs open and Commander Une enters, the scowl that is a permanent fixture these days firmly fastened on her face. The frown deepens slightly as she observes the havoc we've made of her circle, but she says nothing. She stands next to the vidscreen hanging at the front of the room, clicks a button on a small device in her hand, and begins to speak briskly.

"Three hours ago, we received a message from Colony XV7889, in the L3 sector," she informs us. "In response to our request, they recently reactivated several search satellites that they have had inactive since the rebellion five years ago. One of those satellites picked up a disturbance around Colony XV7870, a colony that has supposedly been abandoned for over a decade."

She clicks the button again, and a sort of map appears on the screen. One dot, representing the inhabited colony, appears, located on the fringe of one of the L3 clusters. Another dot, the abandoned colony, floats alone in space, with no other colonies or sources of support near.

"Colony XV7870 was never very heavily populated," Une continues. "It was a factory site, then used for storage. As I said, about a decade ago, when some of the cluster formations were reconfigured, it was abandoned completely." She pauses. "So imagine everyone's surprise when a colony that was supposed to be completely empty registered an immense amount of radio activity on a satellite sweep."

Une's gaze sweeps across the room. I wonder in irritation why she's stretching this out. She thinks the Gundam is based on this uninhabited colony. She wants someone to go check it out. Why doesn't she just ask?

"The people on XV7889 decided to see what they could find, completely without orders." I have to hide a smile as I catch the touch of asperity in her tone. This colony, without instruction from Une, must have found out something really good for her to be this annoyed. "They launched a very old spy satellite, and picked up this."

She clicks the control again, and there's a murmur of surprise as the new picture flashes across the screen. Grainy and distorted as the far range satellite photo is, it's obviously our target.

"So we know it's there," Duo says, in an uncharacteristically flat voice. "When do we attack?"

"There's more," Une says reluctantly. "They managed to intercept radio broadcasts as well."

"From a ‘very old spy satellite?'" Heero asks skeptically.

Une's lips tighten. "It seems that some of our allies in the colonies have been a bit less than forthcoming about the capabilities of the equipment they have retained," she admits reluctantly. "But, as it has benefited us in the case, I didn't see a need to make an issue of it. Right now."

She hits yet another button, and sound comes from somewhere in the room. Static crackles, there's an odd rushing sound, the quality is poor - and the whole thing brings back incredibly vivid sensory memories of piloting Nataku. I see the small movements and startled blinks of the others, and know they have been affected the same way.

"Identify yourself," says the first voice, the voice of some type of controller on the colony.

A disgusted snort comes from the other, the unknown pilot of the Gundam. "You know who the Hell is it," he says, his voice heavy with arrogance and contempt. "Open the damn lock and let me land."

I lean forward eyes staring unblinkingly at the still satellite photo on the vidscreen, intent on hearing every nuance of the conversation, every background sound from the recording. I barely register the flicker of movement in my peripheral vision.

"It is imperative that you identify yourself," the first voice insists.

"Who else do you think it is?" the pilot retorts. "Anyone else you know have a damn Gundam?"

"For the safety of the organization, we must preserve protocol," insists the first voice, and then it's obvious. This person is rather enjoying hassling the pilot.

The pilot makes a rude suggestion about what the official can preserve. He obviously isn't used to being thwarted. The official sighs. "It could be a trap," he insists. "You certainly took your sweet time getting back here."

"Did you want me to just waltz back in, leaving a trail for everyone to follow?" the pilot demands. "Let me in, now, or you'll wish you had." The threat is heavy in the tone.

This time, the movement is more than a flicker. I turn my head, and the movement causes Barton to rip his gaze away from the screen to me. My eyes meet his dark green ones, and I almost exclaim aloud at the expression within them. He's gone white, and his eyes…I see horror. Disbelief. I see fear. His lips move. "…you'll wish you had," he mouths, silently echoing the words of the pilot. Still staring at me he slowly shakes his head, unconsciously denying…what? What has affected him so profoundly?

I open my mouth to ask him, and that small movement jerks him out of his daze. His eyes dart to the front of the room, where Commander Une is speaking again.

"…light of this information, I don't want to let this wait. This ‘organization' has had who knows how much time to build their operations. Perhaps they have more than the one Gundam, even," she says grimly. "Some sort of attack needs to be commenced, to test their strength. We don't really have the troops to expend, but I think we have to…"

"Commander Une," Trowa interrupts suddenly.

Chairs creak as bodies shift, everyone turning in surprise to stare at the source of the unexpected interruption.

"I need to speak to you. Now. Alone," Trowa qualifies. His expressionless mask is firmly in place, but the urgency he feels is obvious; his voice is hard.

"I don't think…" Une begins.

"What the Hell do you mean, alone?" Duo demands, bouncing up angrily from his seat. "We're all part of this, how can you exclude us from…"

"Now," Trowa insists, pushing himself away from the wall. "Please, Commander Une," he requests, quickly crossing the room to the door.

I don't think it was the unexpected appeal that swayed Une. She's become very adept at reading our signals over the years. She realized the enormity of his agitation when Trowa, always so lissome, so collected, actually tripped on my chair in his haste to cross the room. It is probably the only time I have ever seen him move in a less than graceful fashion. With a brief order to remain where we are, Une follows him out of the room.

The rest of us stare at each other in silent astonishment.

We don't want to speak, or we may receive affirmation from the others of the emotion we saw in Trowa's green eyes, as he stumbled out of the room.

Fear.

What in the name of the Gods could he have heard in that transmission that frightened Trowa Barton?

_______________________________________

"What is it, Barton?" I snap, entering the small room that has been allotted me as my office. I sit in my chair; he remains standing. He's pacing all over the small enclosure, and I suddenly have the uncomfortable feeling that I'm caged with a lion.  
  
"What is this all about?" I repeat when he doesn't answer me, my eyes following him back and forth across the room. This uncontrolled nervous movement is very unlike Trowa. He's always still, collected. He never allows any inner turmoil to show.  
  
Suddenly, he stops in front of the desk. His eyes meet mine unflailingly. "I know who the Gundam pilot is," he says flatly.  
  
It's not often I'm caught completely unaware. I feel my mouth drop open. "You…what?" I ask, hearing the incredulity in my tone.  
  
"I know who that pilot is," he repeats.  
  
"You…how? You were…" I can't bring myself to say it. Despite my brief confusion the day the Gundam attacked, I never really believed Trowa had anything to do with it. But now…he seems to be saying…  
  
A brief expression of annoyance crosses his face. "I'm not in on the damn plot, Une," he snaps. "I recognize the voice."  
  
"You recognize the voice?" I repeat doubtfully. "Trowa, it wasn't that good a transmission, and…"  
  
"I recognize it," he insists.  
  
"Who is it?" I ask skeptically.  
  
He stares at me for a long moment. Then, in the flattest, deadest voice I have ever heard him use, he tells me.  
  
I stare at him for a long moment.  
  
"That can't be," I say, and I hear the coldness in my own voice. "Impossible."  
  
"No," he says, all the power of his conviction in that one word. "I recognizee the voice."  
  
"But how…"  
  
He shrugs. "Who knows?" he asks rhetorically. "But it's him."  
  
"But why, after all this time…"  
  
"Not really so long. That force was pretty well destroyed last time. It would take awhile to rebuild."  
  
"It's not possible." I can't believe it. It's too far-fetched.  
  
"Motive, means, opportunity," Trowa recites. I scowl at him. He sounds like a cheap mystery novel.  
  
"Ok, supposing your theory is true," I say, allowing my doubt to show. "Why now? Why that Gundam?"  
  
"Because now is when they can, finally," he says. "As far as why that Gundam…for one, it's the one he'd have access to."  
  
He's right. He would have access to that particular Gundam.  
  
"And two…" he spreads his hands. "Revenge."  
  
Revenge. The Heavyarms model. The L3 colonies. The base…on an abandoned factory colony…  
  
"My God," I murmur.  
  
He nods.  
  
I can't believe I never thought of it before. But it seemed…impossible. I rise from my desk. "We need to tell the others. We need to formulate a plan. Now that we know…"  
  
He shakes his head vehemently. "You will not tell them," he interrupts.  
  
I am startled into sitting down again. "What do you mean, I won't tell them?" I interrupt.  
  
"You will not tell them," he repeats. "And I will go surrender myself to his organization."  
  
"What?" I can't have heard him correctly.  
  
"I'm going to go there," he repeats.  
  
I did hear him correctly. He's just crazed. "Pilot, if you think I'm sending you into that situation alone…"  
  
"It's the only thing that can buy us some time," he interrupts. "We don't know what they have - they could have more Gundams," he reminds me. "We don't have enough forces now to take even a single Gundam. You need to manufacture more suits, Commander," he tells me unwillingly. He knows I don't want to hear that. "But that takes time."  
  
We're silent for a moment. He speaks again, and I hear how reluctant he is to voice this thought. "He wants me," he says. "He wants revenge on me most of all. I'm the only bait we have that will distract him long enough to allow you to mobilize."  
  
He's right. He's absolutely right. And sending him alone into this particular lion's den is very wrong.  
  
"We'll send you in with reinforcements," I begin lamely.  
  
He shakes his heads. "They'll be killed," he says flatly. "The mission will be compromised."  
  
I rest my elbow on my desk and drop my head onto my upraised hand. "We'll consult with the others…see if they have any ideas…"  
  
"No, Commander," he says firmly. "We will not tell them."  
  
I look up at him. "Why not?" I demand. "You think they'll sit quietly and let me keep them in the dark?"  
  
"Do you think they'll let me go alone, if they know where I'm going?" he asks.  
  
He's right again, damn it. The other pilots would never send one of their number alone on such a mission.  
  
"But they'll insist on knowing before you go," I protest weakly.  
  
"So I'll go before they know I'm going," he says quietly.  
  
I frown at him.  
  
"I can leave within the hour," he says evenly. "You'll go tell them when I've already blasted off."  
  
I blanch at the very thought of delivering such a message. He stares intently at me. "It's the only way, Commander. If they come too, they'll die."  
  
"So could you, pilot," I remind him tersely.  
  
He inclines his head. He doesn't seem too bothered by the notion, I note with exasperation. This little group was always far too willing to die.  
  
"Possibly," he acknowledges. His face sobers. "In fact…Commander…it is probable." He's silent for a moment. "I expect I will be gone for some time. If I have not returned within a month, plan the attack. Wait another week, then begin the assault."  
  
"But we could be attacking you…"  
  
"If I have not returned within that month's time, I will not return," he says meaningfully, staring into my eyes. "Do you understand?"  
  
I do understand. They will have killed him, or he will have forged his escape by bringing about his own death.  
  
This is terribly unfair. These five men should never be asked to do this again. They should be able to live out their lives in peace. They've earned it. But they are being required to fight again, and it is I that am asking them to do so. To my horror, I feel a sharp pricking at the back of my eyelids, a sensation I have not experienced in many long years.  
  
"I will go get a suit ready, Commander," he says quietly.  
  
I bury my face in my hands as he silently leaves the office. What in the world am I going to tell the others? What can I say, when I have coldly and pragmatically sent their friend into Hell?  
  
______________________________________  
  
I click the exterior radar into close focus. The hazy blob of light I was looking at a minute ago slowly coalesces, and in a moment I'm staring at Colony XV7870. There are definite signs of activity - the colony shield is blurry, obviously covered with the thin film of water vapor and ice created by an active climate control system.  
  
I've been in space for over twenty-four hours, not counting the stop I made at the outermost of the L4 colonies for refueling. Every moment I've been in the air, every mile this Taurus has covered, has brought me closer to this colony, now bare minutes away.  
  
I asked for this mission. In fact, I demanded that I be given it. I created this mission.  
  
And I have never so desperately wanted out of a mission in my life.  
  
But there's noone else who can perform this particular task. Just like there was noone else who could prevent Heavyarms from being used the way he was originally intended. There was noone else who could infiltrate OZ, noone else who could - or would - destroy Deathscythe just to prove to a hated enemy that they were "one of them." And noone else who could join Mariemaya's army, who would open fire on Duo and Heero just to provide them with a way into the Barton fortress.  
  
I'm damn tired of being the only one who can do all this shit.  
  
But that's self-pity. Heero self-destructed. Quatre's father was sacrificed to the war, and Wufei saw his entire world die. Duo flew missions that landed him in the hands of the enemy again and again. I wasn't the only one with impossible missions that should never have been placed on me.  
  
Of course, looking at our lives in a reasonable fashion doesn't make me feel any better. I feel my skin crawl with revulsion, though I try, I desperately try, not to think of what awaits me on that calmly glimmering colony that appears ever closer in my viewscreen.  
  
I am the only one who can go. I am the one he wants. He taunted me with the Gundam - the Gundam modeled on my own. It's not my Gundam - I've studied the photos XV7889's satellite captured for us, and I see definite differences. Even he couldn't completely replicate Heavyarms. But it's close enough.  
  
That should have been my first clue. Who else could have access to those plans, now that Doktor S is dead? But it didn't seem that such a thing could be. That problem, I thought, had been solved years ago. The man was dead.  
  
I should have remembered.  
  
When we have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, is the truth.  
  
I thought it was impossible, though. I saw his death. But I never saw his body. I assumed that it had been taken care of. But I didn't know.  
  
I assumed it had been taken care of. Assumed. Always a mistake.  
  
And I'm paying the penalty, now, for that faulty assumption.  
  
Well, I won't assume he's dead next time. I'll kill him with my own hands, and wait until the body grows cold. I'll shoot it out into space and see it rupture. I'll…  
  
I force myself to calm down. Mechanically, I check all of the gauges and readings on the control panel of the suit. There's precious little chance that I'll get the opportunity to kill him, much less engage in sick and exotic performances to ensure the validity of his death.  
  
The reports of his death were greatly exaggerated.  
  
Why is every quote I've ever heard or read suddenly thronging through my head?  
  
The ball of white light that is Colony XV7870 is closer now - I can make out the particulars without the far-range exterior radar.  
  
I probably won't get the chance to kill him. But he'll have every chance to kill me.  
  
He'll probably make it last. Drag it out. It'll take days…weeks. He knows everything I hate, knows how to push buttons noone else knows exist. He'll seek to make me betray the others, to reveal the location of my friends.  
  
Every instinct I have is screaming that this mission is wrong. It's a suicide mission. I'm going in with no escape route. No Gundam is waiting for me. I've demanded that noone stage a rescue mission. I have no hope in Hell of getting onto that colony unnoticed, and I won't be able to get away.  
  
I'm nearly there.  
  
The trip seemed so long, but now I wish it were longer. I wish I had another day, another hour. I haven't been able to become accustomed to this idea yet, haven't been able to erect the walls I'm going to need to have up to endure what's waiting for me.  
  
All my possessions for a moment of time.  
  
I've left so much unfinished. I left without saying good-bye to any of them. I had to - they would have followed, and would have died. I couldn't have allowed that.  
  
I could have left a note. Left a message with Une. A note for Quatre. A message for Wufei. For Duo.  
  
Oh, Duo. How could I have left him that way? Even though he made his choice, and it wasn't me, he didn't deserve to be treated like that. I made sure, by leaving without a word, knowing that I won't be going back, that he will have a burden of guilt to carry forever. We never resolved anything. He'll believe I went to my death hating him, angry with him, never forgiving him.  
  
How could I do that? Now I have to go to this colony, to this evil awaiting me, knowing that the last thing I did in my life was to irreparably harm the person who means the most to me. The last thing I did was bring more pain into another life.  
  
Jealousy...it is the green-eyed monster, that doth mock the meat it feeds on.  
  
No use thinking of that now. At least Duo will be alive to feel guilty. Heero will console him.  
  
Heero. Heero was my first friend. I can admit, now, to myself, that I had a crush on him. He was perfect - everything I wasn't. I wanted to _be_ him. I even wanted to self-destruct, like him. That's why I always believed Duo must prefer him - he was a better, a more perfect version of me.  
  
When it turned out that Duo did prefer him, I hated him. Despised him for being so much more than me. How pointless that seems now. What was he supposed to do, stop training and suck out some IQ points to make me feel better?  
  
I scowl. I have to collect myself. I'm getting sentimental, and stupid. Of course I'm looking back on the past horrible week nostalgically. Anything is preferable to what I'm going to. The rose-colored glasses I've donned as I've neared this colony don't actually change the hue of events past. They still betrayed me. Still broke promises they had each made me. Still abandoned me.  
  
That's what I need to focus on. Regret, sorrow, and guilt will only deliver me more easily into his hands. I have been betrayed, and now I will die alone, as I have always been.  
  
I feel something within me harden at that thought. They have all left me alone to die. Une allowed me to go, knowing I would die alone. The others will have been told by now, or will soon be told, of my mission. They will not come for me - the lives of the many others we protect will be deemed more important, and I will be allowed to die, alone, at that hands of a man who hates me. Perhaps they will be sorry, but they will not prevent it.  
  
Friendship and love are illusions. They fill up empty time, occupy our minds in times of peace. They are the first things to be sacrificed when the road turns rocky. Any loyalty anyone felt for me is now nothing but the sacrificial goat on the altar of duty.  
  
Determinedly, I increase my speed and move within the air space of the colony. Something inside me is screaming that I'm wrong, that I'm being unfair again. I don't care. Numbness is the only thing that can possibly help me to bear what is coming. I don't want anything else. I don't need anything else. I will save myself, or I will die. My life is noone else's responsibility.  
  
A harsh beep breaks the stillness, alerting me to a signal coming from the colony.  
  
I press a button, and a face appears on my vidscreen.  
  
I don't recognize it. It's a male face, white, probably in his early thirties. His hair and eyes are brown, and his expression is angry.  
  
"Who are you?" he demands. "Our organization likes to keep track of those they have destroyed."  
  
I recognize the voice. It was the officer who was taunting the pilot of the Gundam in the transmission picked up by Colony XV7889's satellite. I ignore his threat as I answer calmly. "This is Trowa Barton. Pilot 03. The pilot of the true Heavyarms."  
  
The man's expression turns from angry to startled. His eyes flicker away, obviously meeting those of someone out of the range of the camera. "You are to enter the colony," he tells me abruptly. "Disarm your suit. If we see any indication that you're powering up your weapons, you will be destroyed immediately."  
  
The picture flickers out as he breaks the transmission.  
  
I guide my suit to the opening created as they release the lock, pulling away a section of the shield guarding the colony and containing its atmosphere.  
  
I lightly press my fingers to my wrist. My pulse is steady and slow. I pilot the suit as though in a dream. The fear and consternation of moments ago is gone. I feel nothing.  
  
A few minutes pass, and I'm landing the suit inside the old factory. My exterior camera shows whole troops surrounding me, guns drawn. I turn off the camera.  
  
Deliberately, I run through the landing checks. I run diagnostics. Nothing's wrong with the suit; it's seen no action. But I activate and complete the process anyway. I scan the computer system, eliminating all traces of my launch or travel coordinates. They will not find the base through my suit.  
  
When everything is done, I open the hatch. I remove my safety restraint, I take off my helmet. I stand up and exit the suit.  
  
I don't bother with the landing strip, I just allow myself to step off the end of the entry platform. I feel the breeze through my hair, feel the impact as my feet slam into the ground.  
  
I turn my head slowly, casually from side to side, searching for the face. I know he's here.  
  
There's movement in the ranks in front of me. The mass of men facing me parts, to let another man through.  
  
It's him.  
  
I walk forward.  
  
He walks toward me.  
  
We stop, about five feet away from each other.  
  
I survey him calmly. He looks older; a bit bulkier. But the rugged features are as sharply etched as ever, the cruel mouth is shaped into the same wry twist and the blue eyes flash with the same angry, arrogant contempt I learned to dread all those years ago. And all that is crowned by hair as blond and soft as that of angel.  
  
He is the first to speak. "Well, well. Look at what we have here. Little Nanashi, all grown up. So nice of you to come visiting."  
  
My mouth is completely dry, but I incline my head politely as I return his greeting.  
  
"My pleasure, Trowa Barton."


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> by Shoori

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from Dacia, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [A Little Piece of Gundam Wing](https://fanlore.org/wiki/A_Little_Piece_Of_Gundam_Wing), which closed in 2017. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after July 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [a little piece of gundam wing collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/alittlepieceofgundamwing/profile).

It's a real good thing that I never signed on as a soldier in any kind of organized army. If this is how commanders treat their ranks, I'd never have been able to stand it. I'd have been court-martialed in about fifteen minutes.

There's been nothing for over a day. Trowa made his dramatic exit, Une followed him with orders to stay where we were…then nothing. We sat in that damn room for over two hours, before some flunky trotted in to tell us that we were "free to go" and that "the Commander is busy - she will brief you on events at her convenience."

It's a good thing the Commander is good at hiding. I tore the damn base apart looking for the officious bitch, or for our secretive teammate, but I couldn't find either of them.

I'm going to kill them both myself.

Then, an hour ago, we get orders to go back to the little conference room where they ditched us in the first place. The chairs were arranged in a little circle again. I took it upon myself to rearrange them.

Wufei sticks his head through the door and calmly surveys the room, noting the places the chairs have landed after I threw them against the walls. "Are you finished?" he asks.

I glare at him. "Sure," I mutter. "Come on in and join the party."

He strolls in, followed by an apprehensive-looking Quatre and an equally uneasy Heero. Wufei picks up a chair, rights it, and motions Quatre into it. He places another for himself, leaving Heero to choose his own seat.

I glare again at them all, sitting docilely in their chairs. "What the _Hell_ is going on here?" I snarl. "Where's Une? Where's Trowa?"

"We know nothing more than you do, Maxwell," Wufei informs me, the edge in his voice belying his calm behavior. Well, I hope he's edgy. _I'm_ certainly edgy. I don't see why other people should be calm and relaxed.

What the Hell could Trowa have gotten from that broadcast that he could only tell Une? Where have they been all this time? Why couldn't he tell us?

I don't want to believe the only possible explanation. He doesn't trust us. More specifically, he doesn't trust _me_. His suspicion of me just _can't_ go so deep that he can't even share _military_ information with me. Can it?

It can't. I know it can't. I'm sure he was on the verge of, if not forgiveness, at least of thawing a bit. He'd convinced himself that I didn't love him and never had, but I think his anger was cooling into hurt. Hurt I can deal with. Hurt can be fixed. Righteous indignation just irritates me, and I say stupid things that just bolster it up. There's the Maxwell interpersonal resume - bad at soothing, great at comforting.

But where _is_ he?

Just as I'm about to start throwing chairs again, the door opens and Une strides briskly in. She ignores the state of the room, and takes her place at the front by that damn screen. She's alone.

"Where's Trowa?" I snap.

She ignores me completely. That really pisses me off.

"You'll recall that yesterday, we listened to the intercepted broadcast between the unknown Gundam pilot and colony XV78770," she begins briskly. "We have identified the Gundam pilot."

Sensation. If Une was looking for a reaction, she got one. I don't think she could have caused more commotion if she announced that Relena was on her way here to supervise. Well, maybe that would cause a _little_ more commotion.

"Who is it?" Heero demands harshly, his voice cutting through the rest of our questions and exclamations.

Une hesitates. "Trowa Barton," she says finally.

In contrast to her first little revelation, this one is met with absolute silence. "What?" Quatre finally asks. "That's…"

"Stupid," I finish for him, scowling at Une. "He was with _us_ all this time, remember, Une? Tall guy, green eyes, pissy attitude…"

"Not him," Une snaps, scowling back at me. "The _original_ Trowa Barton. Dekim's son. Mariemaya's uncle."

The original Trowa Barton? That can't be either. He's…

"He's dead," Wufei says flatly. "He's been dead since before any of us ever landed on earth six years ago."

Une nods at him. "That's what we all believed," she acknowledges. "But it appears that we were wrong. Trowa - our Trowa - recognized his voice on the intercepted broadcast."

If anyone would recognize that voice it would be Trowa. Barton has been a recurring feature in his nightmares for years. I don't remember how many times I woke up to him thrashing around, muttering that name. When I'd wake him up from those dreams, he was very cold - he'd roll away, spurning any comfort, and pretend to go back to sleep. But he would never sleep again on a night he had one of those dreams.

He'd never tell me about it. All he'd ever say was that the original Trowa Barton was an evil man, and that the world was a better place because he was dead. I never pressed it because I was a little hurt at his dismissive manner when I questioned him. I figured that when he was ready to tell me about it, he would.

I'm starting to really wonder what the hell has been wrong with me all these years. Trowa never really told me anything about his past. And I just never pushed it. How can we have been together for so long, and I know so little about him? He knows all my stories. Well, some of my stories. But I never made him tell me his. I never even _asked_ him to share his past with me. Shit. No wonder he thinks I don't care about him.

Wufei and Heero and Quatre are arguing with Une, explaining all the reasons that our mysterious pilot can't possibly be the heir to the Barton empire. They're wasting time - if Trowa recognized the voice, that's who it is. New data means reconfiguring old beliefs.

"We're wasting time," I interrupt. All eyes turn to me, startled. "If Trowa and Une think it's that Barton bastard, we have to operate on that belief. What now, Une? Do we attack the colony?"

Une shakes her head. "We don't know anything about what kind of force he has accumulated," she points out. "And we don't have enough troops to waste on exploratory sallies." She sighs heavily. "We have to make more suits."

Quatre winces. Wufei closes his eyes. Heero blanches. "Relena's going to have a fit," he predicts gloomily.

"Relena isn't being told of this," Une admits grimly. "We've already begun production."

"Is that where Trowa is?" I ask. I need to go talk to him. This must have shaken him badly. Even if he's still angry at me, I have to try to help.

Une looks around at all of us, her gaze shifting rapidly from one of us to the other. She moistens her lips and rubs her hands together.

My eyes narrow. Nervous mannerisms and Une don't go together.

"Where's Trowa?" I demand.

"We need to manufacture more suits," Une repeats. "We need time to do that. We can't let Barton find this base until we are more adequately prepared."

"So where's Trowa?" I press, refusing to be sidetracked on issues of headquarters security.

Une sighs. "Trowa believes that much of Barton's goal is revenge on him, for stealing both the original Heavyarms and Barton's place in the sun. Trowa thinks that he will be able to distract Barton from searching for our base long enough for us to mobilize better."

"Distract him?" I interrupt over Quatre's cry of distress. "You don't mean that he's planning to go to that colony?"

Une looks down. I start to get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. "He can't," I say harshly. "He can't go there. Barton will kill him."

Une looks up, and stares straight at me. Her brown eyes show sorrow and regret, but these emotions are overshadowed by an expression of rock-hard determination. "He's already gone," she says clearly. "He left yesterday. He should have arrived at Colony XV7870 several hours ago."

I don't hear the angry protests everyone else hurls at Une. I hear a rushing in my ears, and my vision narrows, tunnels, until all I see is Une, in the midst of a reddish haze.

With a sudden roar, I launch myself across the room at Une. This act is unforgivable. She will be punished for sending Trowa out alone to face our enemy.

However fast I am, though, there's always been someone whose reflexes are even faster. Heero catches me halfway to my goal, and tackles me.

"That won't help, Duo," he says clearly, holding me to the floor.

"Let me up," I snarl, glaring at him. "I'm going to -,"

"That won't help," he repeats. He pulls me up, but keeps a firm hold on my arms.

"When are we launching the rescue mission?" Wufei is asking Une, who looks, for once, slightly startled.

She darts a trepidatious glance my way before answering. "We aren't," she replies. "I promised him I wouldn't."

"Wouldn't rescue him?" Quatre asks, his voice trembling.

Une sighs. "He said if anyone were to go with him, or try to rescue him, they would be killed," she tell us. Her voice is tired. "He went there alone, to save all of you. Don't make his sacrifice worthless."

"His sacrifice?" Heero repeats.

I laugh bitterly, and everyone looks at me again. "Yeah, his sacrifice," I agree. "Tell them what he's sacrificing, Une."

Une looks down again. "Trowa believes…" She stops. "He said to wait a month for him. If he's not back within that time, we are to mobilize, and attack the colony after another week has passed."

"But if he's still on the colony…" Quatre begins.

Une shakes her head. "He said if he's not back within the month…"

"He won't be coming back," I interrupt. I see the looks of horror on Quatre and Wufei's faces, feel the sudden surprised slackness in Heero's arms holding me back. But I don't move. "If he doesn't return here in a month, it's because he's dead."

Une says nothing.

"We have to save him," Quatre insists.

"We can't," I say, ignoring the appalled expression he bestows on me. "All of the troops will be tied up producing other suits, as will our resources. And how long will it take to produce these other suits, Commander?"

Une doesn't speak for a long moment. "Just over a month," she finally replies.

I laugh again. "So we're to build all these suits, then attack the colony, where Trowa will already be dead. He's never coming back."

Une is silent.

"He's going to be killed," I press relentlessly. "Barton will play with him, torture him, hurt him and then he'll kill him. And while he's doing that, we will stay here and build mobile suits."

"Did he leave us any message?" Quatre interrupts. Tears are rolling down his face, but he ignores them.

Une shook her head slowly. "Just, not to follow him."

I feel a searing pain tear through my chest, threatening to diminish the anger I feel. Trowa left, to go to his certain death, and he didn't even say good-bye.

"You bitch," I say quietly. Une looks at me steadily, her face impassive. "You cold-hearted bitch. Treize certainly trained you well, _Lady_ Une."

She flinches at that. "It had to be," she says quietly, with conviction. "It was the only way."

I make a sound of disgust. "Whatever. What you mean is that sending Trowa to die alone at the hands of a man he's had nightmares about for _six years_ is the only way for you to conveniently rebuild your armies your way. Ever think of pulling in other colonies to help do this faster? Of asking us to help? Of getting Howard here?"

She looks suddenly stricken. "Nightmares?" she whispers weakly.

"Oh yes, but how could you know that, Lady Une?" I ask sarcastically. "You thought Barton was just a psychotic killer who wanted to drop colonies on the Earth and had a grudge the size of the Peacemillion against Trowa. You didn't know that Trowa was actually _afraid_ of him, so it's okay you sent him off there alone, without giving us the chance to help him or even say good-bye. Don't let it keep you up at night," I advise, sneering at her.

"Duo…" she entreats, her voice breaking.

I have to get out of here. "I hope you're happy, Lady Une," I tell her coldly. "I hope you're very proud of all this."

I slam the door behind me and blindly take off for my room. Trowa is gone. Trowa is going to die. Trowa left without saying good-bye to me.

Trowa is gone.

_________________________________________

I straighten, leaning back against the hard, unyielding frame of the wooden chair that I have just been shoved into. I shake my head slightly, so that my hair rests in its proper place over the right side of my face, and look up impassively at the man glaring down at me.

Rather than bring me down here himself, Trowa Barton sent me with this man. He claims that he wants to try to retrieve my travel coordinates from my mobile suit. Without even asking me, he knows that I erased them before I exited the suit.

That's not what he's doing, though. He's allowing anticipation to build. He wants me to go with this person, bear whatever is forthcoming from him, while waiting, and fearing, the inevitable confrontation with Barton.

All the Bartons have always been rather predictable.

This man, though, is as yet an unknown.

"Do you know who I am?" he asks abruptly, his brown eyes narrowed as he stares intently at me.

Should I? I shake my head in the negative.

"My name is Oslo."

"I'm sorry," I murmur before I can help myself. I've definitely spent too much time with Duo. I squelch that thought before it's fully formed.

A spark of anger flares in his eyes, and he backhands me hard across the face. My cheek aches dully, and I taste blood in my mouth, but I make no sound.

"You don't remember me?" he presses.

I shake my head again.

"I served directly under Quinze," he boasts. "I am White Fang."

White Fang. That explains a _lot_. It's always rather worried me how completely they seemed to fade away. Fanatics never give up their cause, even when they are defeated on so grand a scale as White Fang was.

"Why did you betray us?" he asks abruptly.

I can barely keep myself from sighing. There it is, the rallying cry of White Fang. They believed that the Gundams, as representatives of the colonies, should have joined them, should have fought with them against the earth. They didn't see that with their desire to eliminate the home planet, they made of themselves tyrants as fearsome as OZ or the Alliance ever were.

"Why?" he repeats, his voice growing more angry.

"Destroying the earth was not part of my mission," I reply calmly.

With a sound between an enraged bellow and a disgusted snort, he slaps me again. That's getting a bit tiresome. I flex my hands behind me, but the knots he tied are holding together well.

"It _was_ part of the mission!" he half-screams. "It was the entire _focus_ of Operation Meteor!"

Operation Meteor. The mission that would have killed two billion people, and brought untold wealth and power to the Barton family, the uncrowned kings of the inner colonies, kept in check only by the regulatory powers of Earth.

The White Fang have always been fools. If they're now siding with Barton in an attempt to revive the original Operation Meteor, they're bigger fools than I thought. They've chosen as their leader in their fight for freedom the very man who wants to enslave them all.

"Well?" he demands, glaring at me.

I don't reply. There's nothing to say. Obviously he doesn't want to hear my true opinion, and I've hardly got the inclination to apologize for ruining Operation Meteor.

"Traitor," he spits, sneering at me.

That's obviously quite an insult in his mind. I don't feel overly chastised, though.

"Why are you here, traitor?" he presses, shifting the topic.

I don't reply.

"Why are you here?" he repeats.

Again, I don't answer.

"Answer me!" he orders sharply.

I lift one shoulder in a half-shrug, a gesture which I have learned really irritates a certain type of personality.

I calculated correctly. He's that type of personality. I lean to the side and spit on the floor, unwilling to swallow all the blood pooling in my mouth.

"I'm asking you one more time, traitor," he says in an ugly tone. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see who made such a crappy copy of my Gundam," I reply bluntly.

He reddens. " _Your_ Gundam? Don't you mean the Gundam you stole from Mr. Barton, along with everything else that was his?"

"The Gundam was given to me by its creator."

"Its creator." Oslo looks like he's going to spit. " _S_. Another traitor. All those scientists were traitors. Weak and vacillating old men."

I let him rant. I really have little to add, and he doesn't seem in the mood to be contradicted.

He shifts tactics. "How did you find out where we are?"

I smile slightly.

"What?" he demands, catching the expression.

I shrug again.

"What's so funny, Nanashi?" he questions, obviously expecting a reaction to his use of my old ‘name.'

"Nothing, _Oslo_ ," I return, stressing his name. His eye twitches slightly. That must be a sore spot.

"How did you find this base?" he repeats.

I sigh. "Haven't you figured out yet, Oslo, that I'm not telling you anything?" I ask wearily.

In a moment, I'm hauled to my feet, Oslo's hand bunched in the fabric of my shirt. "Oh yeah?" he half-whispers, his face so close to mine that I feel his breath brush my cheek. "We'll see about that."

He draws his arm back, preparing to punch me. I see no need to prolong this little Q&A session. Oslo is not impressing me. As his arm swings forward I bend my neck, moving my head so that the blow catches me hard across the temple, rather than across the jaw as he'd intended. There's a bright explosion of light behind my eyelids, and then everything fades away to black.

__________________________________________

I knock again, staring in irritation at the stubbornly closed panel of the door. "Duo?" I call loudly, still pounding.

"Go ‘way!" comes a muffled shout from within.

"I'm not going away!" I shout back. "Let me in!"

It's been several hours since Une finally revealed what Trowa had done, and Duo's been holed up in his room ever since.

"Just go the fuck _away_ , Heero!" Duo shrieks.

"Duo…" Maybe I _should_ go away. Maybe I should leave him alone…But I don't think he would go away and leave me alone, so I should probably not leave him. I think.

"I'm not going," I repeat firmly. "Open the damn door."

There's silence for a moment, and just as I'm about to resume shouting, I hear the click of the lock. Yanking on the handle, I pull the door open.

I step gingerly into the room, not sure what I'm going to find.

The first thing I notice are the signs of a first-class temper tantrum. Furniture is overturned, broken glass crunches under my feet, clothes and linens are strewn everywhere. Duo has a tendency to get a little physical with inanimate objects when he's frustrated.

But all of that fades into the background as I stare at Duo, huddled miserably on his bed, clutching a bottle full of some amber liquid. His hair has half come out of its braid, and flops in clumps and tangles around him. His eyes are red-rimmed and swollen, and there are tears still flowing down his face.

The tears undo me. I can't stand it when people cry. That's something that I had…have…in common with Trowa.

"Duo…" I murmur helplessly, seating myself gingerly on the bed beside him. "Are you…don't…can I…"

I falter to a stop. I have no idea what to say.

Duo laughs bitterly and lifts the bottle to his lips, taking several long swallows of the liquid within. "No, I'm not ok, I'm trying not to cry and no, there's absolutely nothing you can do," he announces angrily, answering all of my half-formed questions. I smell the alcohol as he speaks.

I frown. Is he…drunk?

"Are you drunk?" I ask bluntly.

He laughs again. "I sure as Hell hope so, Heero. Otherwise I've wasted an awful lot of booze."

"You're mad at Une," I establish, more as a statement then a question.

He snorts. "I guess you could say that," he agrees, taking another swallow from his bottle.

I frown. "Are you mad at Trowa?" I question tentatively.

He turns his face toward mine, and for a moment I think that he's going to strike me, the expression of rage in his violet eyes is so intense.

I'd rather he did strike me. Instead, fresh tears well up, and he drops his head into his hands, ignoring the alcohol that splashes over him and the bed as he drops the bottle. "He's dead, Heero!" he cries in a near wail. "Trowa's _dead_!"

I close my eyes briefly against the words. Trowa _can't_ be dead. "We don't know that," I attempt weakly. "He hasn't been there long. He could still…"

Duo looks up, and the rage is gone, leaving only a despair more deep than any I have seen from him before.

"Heero…don't even try," he says flatly, his words slightly slurred. "You know as well as I do that there's almost no chance that he'll ever come back."

There's nothing I can say. Duo's right. But still… "We've all gotten out of impossible situations before," I remind him, clinging to hope.

He nods. "Because someone in a Gundam came and rescued us," he points out. "We broke each other out of prisons and holding cells. And whatever we have to say about OZ, they didn't torture prisoners. Barton…" He trails off, and I know his mind is full of horrors, imagining what kind of things that cruel man could be doing to Trowa this very minute.

I reach out tentatively, and put my hand on his shoulder. "It's not your fault," I assure him slowly.

I know I've finally hit the heart of the problem when Duo's face crumples again. "He didn't trust us - _me_! - enough to even tell us what was happening, Heero," he sobs. "He just _left_."

"He knew we'd have never let him go there alone," I remind him quietly, trying to hold onto my own composure. "He went to save us."

"Save us," Duo repeats bitterly, rubbing in irritation at his damp eyes. "Why didn't he leave a message? Why didn't he say good-bye?"

I hesitate. I don't really know the answer. "Maybe…maybe he didn't think he needed to," I volunteer.

Duo snorts. "He was punishing me!" he announces. Suddenly his voice is angry. "The very last thing he does, he fucking _punishes_ me some more. He goes off to _die_ , _leaving_ me, and the last fucking thing he does is let me know he's still mad at me, still hates me. Fuck him!" he shouts at the top of his lungs. "Fuck you, Trowa, you _asshole_!" He picks up the discarded bottle from beside him on the bed and throws it with all his strength at the wall. I flinch as it shatters, falling to the floor in a shower of broken glass.

" _Fuck_ you, Trowa" Duo whispers, bending over double, his head resting on the mattress.

I stare helplessly at his trembling form. I haven't got the faintest idea what to do now.

"Duo, I'm sorry," I whisper. All this boils back to me, to what I did, to how I broke them apart.

He looks up, and he looks incurably weary. "Heero…" He stops. "Heero, Trowa's dead," he whispers. "Even if they haven't killed him yet, they will. I almost hope…" he swallows hard. "I almost hope he's dead already, hope that they aren't hurting him a lot before he dies."

I wince. Why is Duo doing this - to himself, to me?

"He and I will never be able to fix what happened between us," he continues. "We left too much unsaid for too long, and we both ran away when everything finally blew up under us. We were stupid, Heero, both of us. Now he's dead, or dying, and it'll never be better."

I wince at the hopelessness in his voice. Duo must be drunk, though. He usually shouts and yells his way through painful situations. I think I prefer that - all this brutal honesty is making me a little nervous.

"I can't fix me and Trowa." His lip trembles. "I love him," he whispers. "God, I love him so much, and I didn't get to say that to him before he left. I'll never get to tell him. But it'll never be gone, Heero. I'll always love Trowa."

I lower my eyes to the mattress. There's nothing I can say, really. My chest aches in response to the pain in his voice.

"Heero." I raise my head and look at him again.

"I can't change that," he tells me again. "And I can't fix what went wrong. But I can keep other things from going wrong the same way."

I frown. Other things?

He takes a deep breath. "You think I slept with you that night because I felt sorry for you." I feel myself flush. "You think it was nothing, just a cheap lay. It wasn't, Heero."

I look away again. Why's he doing this? This isn't necessary - I'm here because of his grief, not my guilt.

"Look at me," he orders. I can still hear the unsteadiness in his voice brought on by the alcohol, but I can't identify the expression in his eyes. "I…care about you, Heero," he tells me earnestly. "I always have. I never stopped, even when you married Relena and I fell in love with Trowa." He's silent for a moment, then he chuckles. "God knows, I've broken just about every law there is, secular and moral, I guess I was going for another. I wanted you _both_."

Huh? He wanted me, all that time? Impossible. He must be trying to make me feel….feel what?

"That night…I thought I could have it. Have both the men I wanted. But I did it wrong, didn't explain, didn't discuss…and I hurt you both. And I hurt myself. I fucked up."

I can't believe this. Duo, wanted me. He thought…

"I'll always regret I did it that way, Heero. It hurt Trowa, and that'll never be better now. It hurt you too. But you're alive, and you're here, and I'll be damned if I don't tell you…don't try to make things right with you. Heero!"

My eyes jerk back to him. They had drifted away as I tried to make sense of what he was saying.

"Duo, you don't…you can't…" I run a hand through my hair. "You're upset."

"Yeah," he agrees tonelessly. "And I'm drunk. But I'm not lying, Heero."

Duo never lies.

"Heero…" His voice is tentative, nervous. I look at him, and tears are on his face again.

"Don't cry, Duo," I half beg, reaching up to brush the wetness from his cheek. He grabs my wrist, holding my hand against his face.

"Please, Heero," he says in a low voice. "Please…don't leave me. I need you…I need you to…to touch me."

He needs me. He needs _me_ to touch him. But does he need _me_ , or does he need something to banish the picture of Trowa, and the unpleasant death he is likely engaged in dying?

"Let me make _something_ right," he asks fervently. "Please."

Maybe he does just want to be with someone, anyone. But he said…and Duo never lies. Could he - could _Duo_ \- really want _me_? Suddenly, I don't care. He's here, and he said he wants me, and he's not the only one who needs contact with someone warm and alive to banish the thought of what is happening to our best friend.

I move abruptly. He blinks at my sudden movement, and I press my mouth to his, my tongue darting along the line of his closed lips until he parts them. I press forward, exploring the warm cavern of his mouth, my tongue dancing against his, teasing him. My hands rise to his shoulders and I push him to his back on the mattress, ignoring the tangled sheet and the wetness of the spilled whiskey.

He kisses me back eagerly as his hands move up to rub across my back and shoulders, his fingers venturing up to tangle in my hair. My mouth not leaving his, I move my body slightly, my fingers fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. I slide my hand behind his back, lifting him off the mattress, and slide the shirt off his arms. I lay him down again gently and tear my mouth away from his, moving it in a line across his jaw, to his ear, down the slim column of his throat to his chest.

I hear him moan, and the soft sound increases the sense of urgency that seems to be pushing me along. I yank my own shirt over my head, and almost roughly unbuckle and pull off his pants. He moans louder, then cries out as my mouth fastens over one nipple, then the other, gently suckling the pale flesh.

"God! Heero!" he chokes, hips bucking as I slide my hand along the inside of his thigh.

My mouth moves lower, over his taut stomach, over his smooth hip. His breathing is harsh, ragged. I pause for a moment, then I take his length in my mouth.

He shouts, arching up, trying to bury himself more deeply in my mouth. I hold onto his hips, holding him in place as I adjust to the sensation. Slowly I take more of him, shuddering in pleasure at the sounds he makes, his movements, the tremors I feel in the skin beneath my hands and in my mouth.

"Heero! Please…please…" he moans inarticulately, and I'm suddenly unsure. Does he want me to continue? Does he want me to stop? Am I doing this right?

I move backwards, opening my eyes to try to gauge his reaction.

He moans in protest. "Please, Heero," he whispers. "I want you."

As quickly as I can, I divest myself of the rest of my clothes, cursing softly as my pants get caught on my shoes. Finally I'm ready, and I position myself above him. I stare down at him, seeking confirmation of what he really wants in his eyes.

"I want you, Heero," he tells me softly, sensing my question. "I want you now."

I push his legs up, opening him to me. I press against him as gently as I can, and a moan is torn from my own throat as I feel him closing tightly around me.

"Duo," I whisper. I can't hold back any longer, and I surge deep inside him. Then I'm lost, and I thrust again and again into that tight, welcoming heat.

He moans beneath me, his hands again scrabbling helplessly against my back. I hear him whispering in my ear but I can't make out what he's saying. I feel his hardness rubbing between our bodies, smell his skin beneath me…I try to hold onto my control but I can't…The world has narrowed to him and me and this movement…

Suddenly he tenses beneath me, then screams…I feel wetness against my stomach and feel him clench around my shaft and I can't hold on any longer…My body jerks and I empty myself into Duo…thrusting again and again until I am empty and I collapse heavily onto him, feeling satisfied and complete for the first time in my life.

We lay like that for a long time, until I come to myself and roll to my side, taking him with me. We lay quietly, my arms around him, his face against my chest. Slowly, the world intrudes, memory returns and the horrors of the present creep back into our awareness.

I feel a trickle of dampness on my chest, and I know that Duo is crying. Somehow, though, I know that he isn't crying over what we have done so much as he is crying because it allowed him to forget, if only for a few moments, the horror that one of our number is facing alone, without help or support or love. I know that, and I stubbornly hold back the answering wetness that threatens in my own eyes, and pull Duo closer to me. I can't help Trowa. But he entrusted Duo to me, and that trust, at least, I will not break.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> by Shoori

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from Dacia, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [A Little Piece of Gundam Wing](https://fanlore.org/wiki/A_Little_Piece_Of_Gundam_Wing), which closed in 2017. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after July 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [a little piece of gundam wing collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/alittlepieceofgundamwing/profile).
> 
> WARNING: NCS!!

I come slowly to consciousness, aware of a dull ache pounding through my head. I try to lift one hand to rub at the source of the ache, but find that I can't move either hand.

That jerks me back to consciousness rather quickly. Both of my hands are bound. So are my ankles. I'm lying on my front, on some sort of cold, flat surface. I shiver at the cold radiating up from whatever it is I'm lying on, and only then realize that I'm unclothed.

I firmly squelch the panic that threatens to overwhelm me. This was a foregone conclusion. It's nothing that I should be surprised by.

I turn my head and open my eyes to get some sense of where I am, and then a touch of that panic manages to break through the barriers I have erected. I can't see. I see some light, a stray beam or two, and realize that I've been blindfolded. I rub my face experimentally against the surface I'm bound to, and can tell as it scrapes against my skin that its some type of coarse cloth.

I force myself to breathe in deeply, hold the air, and release it slowly. I hate being tied, restrained. I can bear it, though, can separate myself from it. But I truly despise being blindfolded. When I'm bound, unable to move, I can at least make use of my other senses to anticipate what's coming, have those split-seconds of time to prepare, so that I can react properly. Without my sight, I don't have that, can't prepare or anticipate or be ready. I can only receive, and react, and I _hate_ it.

No. I will not panic. I will not play into his hands. He will not know how much the added vulnerability of the blindfold disturbs me.

I subtly test my bonds. My arms are stretched high above my head and are shackled together and to something else. I don't dare try to figure it out too obviously, as I don't know whether I'm being observed, and I don't want to appear awake.

I feel an ache in my midsection, and realize that it's the edge of something hard, like a table, that I've been bound to. I casually shift the muscles in my legs, and realized that they've been spread apart, and, though my feet are resting on the ground, they're chained to something immobile.

Great. This just couldn't be any better, could it?

"Well good morning, Nanashi. So good to see that you're with us again."

I had to ask, didn't I? Bastard. He probably knew I was awake before I did. He just sat there and let me figure out how utterly helpless I am before he revealed his presence.

The hate I feel for him begins to burn in my chest. I dampen it, imagining it as a glow that slowly fades away to nothing. Even hate is too much feeling. Even that must go.

"So, Oslo tells me that he didn't really enjoy his chat with you." His voice is closer now. It seems to be coming from in front of me, probably to the right.

"He said you weren't very informative." He's even closer. He must be walking toward me.

"Didn't you like Oslo?" he asks. His voice is very close now. He must be standing right next to me. My skin vibrates with tension, waiting for whatever is coming. This is part of his game too. I try to force my muscles to relax, but _forcing_ yourself to _relax_ is a rather contradictory set of nerve impulse instructions, so the attempt doesn't succeed very well.

He's silent for a long time. _Intimidation technique_ , my mind tells me. I tense up in anticipation, then relax when nothing is forthcoming, then when I least expect it…

His hand descends on me. Although I'd been expecting it, priming and preparing myself not to react, I instinctively start slightly when I feel it. He doesn't hit me. He starts at my shoulder, then slowly, gently even, strokes the length of my arm from the shoulder to my bound wrist.

It takes all of my strength not to shudder. My stomach churns in disgust. I want to pull away from the light touch, run away, scream. It's worse then a blow would have been.

He chuckles. "Jumpy," he comments. "Are you still afraid of me, Nanashi?" he needles, continuing to stroke my arm.

"I'm not a frightened fourteen-year-old anymore, Barton," I remind him, thankful that my voice doesn't quaver. "But I see you're still awfully brave when you're dealing with someone who can't fight back."

His hand stops abruptly, and I can almost feel the anger that he's been trying to hold back permeate the air. I hope I can make him angry. It'll be over sooner.

Instead, he chuckles. "Oh, no, Nanashi," he mocks. "You aren't shifting my mind like that. Why are you here?"

I sigh. "I'm here for my Gundam," I extemporize. He'll believe that at least.

He laughs heartily. " _Your_ Gundam," he repeats. "This Gundam is no more yours than the first one was, Nanashi. It's mine," he says, and his voice grows hard. "It's _mine_ , just like the other was, just like the mission was, just like the _world_ was before _you_ " here he grasps a handful of my hair and yanks on it, "sneaked in like the little thief that you are and stole it all away!"

My head smarts where he pulled my hair, but strangely, I begin to relax. I can handle violence.

I hear him inhale deeply, and he lets go of my hair. His hand is on my shoulder again, and when he speaks this time, he whispers directly into my ear. "They were all mine, and will be again. This Gundam is mine, and now…so are you, Nanashi." I feel him straighten up. "And you have some explaining to do."

His hand wanders down the side of my body, his fingers curving around my hip. I bite the side of my tongue to keep from reacting.

"Why did you take the Gundam?" he asks.

I shrug, as best I can with my arms bound above me. "Noone else was using it," I offer insolently.

He laughs again, a sharp bark of sound. "Well, I certainly wasn't," he agrees. "Not since I was shot in the back and left for dead. I'm deeply hurt that you didn't rush to my aid, Nanashi."

I'm silent. I wish I'd pulled a gun and shot him a few more times, just to make sure.

"It's a good thing that _some_ people are loyal," he tells me. "Thankfully, one of my father's men pulled my body out of the trash heap that that bastard S had left it in before it could be launched into space. He smuggled me back to my home colony, where I was able to recover. My father thought it best if the world continued to believe me dead, so I remained undercover for the rest of the war."

His fingers stroke lightly up and down my side and I fight the urge to wretch.

"Then I had my chance again," he muses. "Through my niece. Once she was enthroned, I could come out of the shadows and take my place in history. And again, you stood in the way." His voice deepens. "This time, you infiltrated my own damn army, using my own name." He's silent for a moment. "I wanted to kill you myself, right then. Father wouldn't let me - he didn't want to alienate Chang. We needed his Gundam. We hadn't uncovered S.'s old plans yet, so we couldn't build our own. So I had to watch you _again_ destroy everything that was mine."

His hand slides beneath me, his fingers rubbing the flesh of my thigh. My nostrils flare with the effort it takes to resist pulling away.

"I've wondered about you, Nanashi," he continues reflectively. "You're my own personal curse, my nemesis, a demon who bears my name and who appears constantly to thwart me. You watched me almost die, stole my Gundam and my name, watched my father die. But now…Now you're mine, Nanashi. I will take everything from you as you took everything from me. You will see everything you care about destroyed. And then, Nanashi, you will die."

I feel the old coldness coming over me. Threats and warnings. The last refuge of the weak.

"But not yet," he promises, and I sense him move to stand behind me.

Suddenly, his hands are on my back, and I can't help it. I flinch and try to pull away from his touch.

He laughs as his fingers move across my skin, tracing the lines of each scar, his fingernails roughly scraping over the larger, more ridged ones. "You never did like that, did you, Nanashi?" he asks, and this time the amusement in his voice is genuine. "I remember giving you some of these," he muses, still tracing scars, "but you already bore some of them the first time I had you. You never told me where they came from. Maybe I'll make you tell me now…"

He can't. I hold fiercely to that thought. Whatever he does, I'll never tell him, never say the words, never let him laugh his way through the story of that old horror….

Unbidden, the pictures rise in front of my eyes, and with the blindfold, I can't push them away, can't focus on something else and make the images fade…

"At least he ain't struggling so much any more."

"Nah, 's'boring. We should make him dance."

Raucous laughter, drowning out the grunts of the man pushing himself into me. The pain is incredible, burning, searing. I can't escape, can't get away. There are too many of them, and I am too weak.

"You know, we're wasting half the merchandise," one rough voice points out.

"How you mean?"

"He's got a mouth, don't he? He should be using it."

I deserve this. It is my penance. The first mercenary group that I was with, the ones that raised me, had never done this, rough as they were. But they're all dead. I let them die because I believed them traitors, though I was the one that had been duped. This wouldn't be happening if they were alive. They are dead because of me. Therefore, this is my own fault, a result of my own actions.

"Yeah! Hey kid, open up. We got something more for ya."

I feel a meaty fist yank on my hair, and feel something press against my tightly closed lips. It's…it's…No! I'll be damned if I just cooperate with that. I can't prevent them from the other, but this much I can control and they'll never, never do this.

There's a muted roar behind me, and I feel a flood of disgusting wetness inside me as the man behind me thrusts deep inside me one more time. Abruptly, he's gone, and another man takes his place.

Will this never end? How the Hell many of them are there anyway?

"Come on, kid!" The one holding my hair pulls on it again. "Open your damn mouth!"

 _I won't. I_ won't _._

"Hey, Rog. He ain't cooperatin'."

Rog must be the one behind me, because he stops, buried deep within me. "You know, you don't cooperate, we have to be unpleasant to you," he warns, grinding against me for emphasis.

I don't care. I won't do it. I won't be an active participant in this.

Rog sighs. "Hand me that," he tells someone behind him, gesturing at something I can't see.

"You asked for it, kid," he tells me in a mockingly sad voice. Suddenly, something descends on my unprotected back. It feels like a line of fire descending against my skin. I feel the flesh tear open, feel the blood pour out.

"Open your mouth," Rog grinds out.

I won't.

The whip descends again, then again. He stops reissuing his order between blows, just lets the lash fall again and again. The pain builds and builds until it is unbearable…I can't hold it in anymore…I open my mouth to scream…

…and the man in front of me thrusts into my mouth. Rog laughs and begins to thrust into me again from behind, his hands running over my torn skin, rubbing in the blood, tearing the already shredded flesh. The man in front of me groans, ordering me what to do with my mouth, with my tongue, ignoring my gags as he pushes himself down my throat.

I comply. There's no reason not to. My degradation is complete.

The old memory, that I have not allowed myself to recall in its entirety in years, storms through my mind with the ferocity of a hurricane, threatening to break my already weak resolve.

No! Barton hasn't even done anything yet. I will not break so easily. I'm not ten years old, or fourteen years old. I'm a man, a solider, a Gundam pilot. I can withstand whatever Barton can dish out.

He sighs regretfully. "You'll tell me some day, Nanashi," he promises. "Until then…" He strokes one particular scar. "I see some of these have begun to fade. I gave them to you as keepsakes, remembrances of our times together. If they're fading…does that mean you've forgotten me, Nanashi?"

I wish he'd just get on with it. These elaborate games of cat and mouse he loves so much are rather wearing. He's starting to diminish his own effect.

Maybe he realizes that. At any rate, I hear the rustle of cloth behind me, the sound of a zipper, the soft thud of discarded material.

"I'll have to remind you," he whispers. I tense as he grasps my hips, and suddenly he slams himself inside me.

It's amazing what time and distance does. Intellectually, I had remembered, but physically I had forgotten the blinding pain of an unexpected, unsought, penetration. Despite the cloth covering my eyes, flashes of red illume my vision, as he thrusts in and out of me.

"God, Nanashi," he grunts. "I'd been informed that you were with that pilot Maxwell, but I must have been misled. Either that, or his dick is _tiny_. You're as tight as you were when you were a kid. I've missed you, Nanashi."

No! How dare he - how _dare_ he mention Duo! I fight down the incoherent scream of anger and rage threatening to erupt from my throat. This can't be happening again…I can't be here…This can't be me…

Calm. Detachment. Separation. Count the thrusts, like in the old days. Reach a high enough number, and he'll be done. One… Two... Three…

Despite my attempts at aloofness, I feel pain and shame flow through my entire body. I thought I'd gone so far, but here I am again. Someone else's toy. Helpless to stop the violation of my own body.

I'm still counting. Finally, as some cold, logical corner of my mind had assured me would happen, I reach a high enough number, and he's finished. I feel his teeth come together, biting hard on the side of my neck, marking me, as he erupts inside me. He collapses heavily on top of me, and my stomach roils at the sour smell of his sweat and his seed.

My eyes are closed beneath the blindfold. My body is still. There is no point resisting, rebelling. Later, next time, I will have to struggle, fight, protest if I am to retain his interest long enough to keep him from searching for our base.

But later doesn't matter. This first time mattered. From now on, my struggles will be an act, timed and designed for his pleasure. This time, they would have been real, and I would never have escaped them.

But I succeeded. I won. He didn't drive me into the insanity that beckoned, welcomed me even. I could have hidden within it, unknowing and uncaring of what happened to my physical form. But again, that would have paled quickly. The mission would have been compromised.

The mission must be protected. It must be accomplished.

He stirs, and I feel his weight lifted.

"I have missed you, Nanashi," he murmurs again. "I promise you, I'll never forget this reunion," he continues. "And I'll make sure that you never forget it either."

The panic I thought I had successfully quelled rushes back in full force. No! He's not going to…he can't! No!

But he is. He can. He does. I hear the swish through the air, feel the burning pain as the whip descends across my back, feel the already scarred skin ripped open yet again.

"Welcome back, Nanashi," he whispers as the lash connects with my back.

I open my mouth to scream, to let loose all the anguish and horror swelling through my soul. It's too much, however, to be expressed in mere sound, and nothing comes out. My throat aches, my breath is cut off, and the pain in my chest equals that on my back but no sound comes out.

 _NOOOO! HELP ME!_ my heart, my soul, and my mind scream in unison, before they are all mercifully silenced by the darkness of unconsciousness.

______________________________________

"This is ridiculous," he mutters, pacing around the small room.

I can't hold back a small sigh. He's made that same remark - or one very like it - every ten or twenty seconds for the past hour. I understand his impatience and agitation, but it's starting to get on my nerves a little.

I summon my most patient smile as he pauses in his pacing to look at me. His expression softens slightly.

That softness, that tenderness he tries so hard to hide still surprises me sometimes. He tries so hard to become strong, not realizing that he _is_ strong, and always has been. He doesn't show his gentleness often, fearing it will be interpreted as weakness. But he is so beautiful when he does.

"This has been a horrible shock for Duo," I remind him as delicately as I can "Heero's probably having a hard time convincing him to come up here."

He snorts. Heero left this room an hour ago, promising to find Duo and bring him back, so we can plan the course of action we must follow over the course of the weeks to come. Neither of them have returned. I am not surprised. I can only imagine the force of the grief Duo is feeling at this moment. It is so much to ask that he put it aside and continue as if nothing happened. It may be too much to ask.

"We have to get moving, Quatre," Wufei reminds me. "We have work to do."

I smile at him again, this time not bothering to hide the sadness I feel. It hurts me to see him try to repress or deny his own feelings. He feels he must be strong for the rest of us, that he can't pause to mourn Trowa lest he risk the safety of everyone else. It's taken him so long to even admit he has such feelings, and now this damn war is forcing him to renounce them again. I wish with all my heart that Dekim's son had remained dead.

Wufei stares intently at me until I can no longer hold the false smile on my face. I gaze into his dark eyes and let him see the sorrow in mine, and begin to see that sorrow reflected back to me. Then, to my surprise he sits beside me, lowers his head into his hands and leans against me, allowing me to support his weight. This is the closest Wufei can come to asking for comfort.

I close my eyes and rest my chin against the top of his head, drawing strength just from the warmth of his body next to mine. I'm suddenly wracked with sympathy for Duo, and for Trowa, neither of whom can experience this comfort now.

"He's going to die, isn't he?" he asks abruptly, breaking a long silence.

I don't trust myself to answer. I've been trying not to think about it. But he is. Trowa is going to die, going to be killed by a figure from his nightmares who has come back from the dead to capture him. "Probably," I manage, not trusting myself to say any more.

"He didn't have to go like this!" Wufei bursts out angrily. "There was no indication the enemy had discovered this base! We had time!"

"He is protecting us," I tell him softly.

I'm startled as he moves abruptly, rising to his feet and glaring challengingly at me. "No one asked him to do that!" he fumes. "I don't need his protection!"

I hold back another sigh. "It's not your fault, Wufei," I tell him, cutting through to the heart of his unspoken fear. "Trowa did what he felt he had to do. For you, yes, but also for me, and Duo and Heero and Une and for everyone on earth. It isn't your fault that he did it, or that we can't save him."

He stops and stares at me, a stricken expression on his face. I see it in his eyes, now. Trowa has done something that Wufei is unsure that he himself would be willing - or able - to do in his place. He believes this to be a weakness, believes Trowa thought him weak, and went alone to his death because there was simply noone for him to rely on.

I feel an entirely unreasonable flash of irritation. Trowa believed no such thing. He analyzed the available data, realized that he would provide the only diversion, and acted upon this knowledge. He weighed the value of his life against the value of the many lives that would be lost if he didn't act and made his decision accordingly. That decision made sound strategical sense.

It is only because we know him so well, and love him so much, that the rest of us are unable to accept this cold evaluation with equanimity.

"You aren't weak," I tell Wufei sharply.

He jumps, startled. He thinks I've read his mind again. I didn't, of course. I just know him, know how he thinks. Not to mention the fact that his worry that he has somehow let Trowa down disturbingly mirrors my own deepest buried fears.

"You had your ‘I'm so weak' face on," I tease, trying to distract him with a hint of levity.

It works for a moment. He's distracted. "My ‘I'm so weak?' face?" he repeats.

I smile. "We aren't doing anyone any good," I remind him. "Noone forced Trowa to his decision. He is doing his part. Now we can only do ours."

He nods curtly, accepting, if not believing, what I tell him.

"Well, we _could_ do our part," he stresses, the irritated look crossing his face again, " _If_ Yuy would get here with Maxwell."

I stand up, stretching slightly. "Why don't we just go get them?" I suggest. "Heero could probably use a hand by now."

We walk together down to the level where all of us are quartered, and I notice that Wufei stays very close to me. He doesn't touch me or take my hand - he has difficulty expressing affection in public - but he is somehow nearer to me than usual. I understand. After seeing the look on Duo's face and the anguish in his eyes, I want to stay as close as I can to Wufei, assuring myself that he's still here with me.

We stop outside of Duo's door. There's no sound from within, and Wufei looks doubtfully at me. "Do you think they're here?" he asks.

I shrug, and knock on the door. "Only one way to find out!" I announce as cheerfully as I can.

There's no response to my knock, so after a moment I try again.

Again, nothing.

Wufei swears under his breath in Chinese. Once I asked him to translate what he was saying. His skin darkened another two shades, and he unwillingly told me what he'd been saying. I laughed for half an hour. I guess that a lot is lost in translation.

"We don't have time for this," he grumbles. "Where the hell could they be?"

He reaches out and tries the door handle, grunting in surprise as it turns in his hand. He pushes it open and enters the room. I follow without speaking. I know that he's not intruding on anyone's privacy - he's just ensuring that neither of them are there before we embark on foolish searches elsewhere.

We're only a few steps into the room when he stops in his tracks, so abruptly that I crash into his back. It's like blundering into a wall - he doesn't move at all. I frown, moving to the side to try to see what shocked him into immobility.

I feel my mouth fall open. There, curled together on the bed in the center of the room, the sheet pulled up over their obviously unclothed bodies, are Duo and Heero.

I hear a low growl rise from Wufei's throat, see his hands clench into fists. I should try to soothe him, try to ameliorate his anger, but I'm too incredulous even to react.

"What in the name of the ancestors are you _doing_!" he roars, his voice rising with every word. I can tell he's deeply affected - he goes all traditional in his speech when his emotions are the most engaged.

"It isn't really your concern," Heero says tightly. "If you'd leave, we'll be with you in a minute."

"You'll be with us in a minute," Wufei repeats flatly. His eyes move insultingly over the entwined pair. "Is that all it will take for one more round?" he questions sarcastically. My mouth drops open even further at this astonishingly rude query.

"Shut your damn mouth, Chang!" Duo shouts furiously. "You don't know what the hell you're talking about!"

"Oh?" Wufei asks disbelievingly. "Am I misinterpreting events?"

"It's not your business, Wufei," Heero repeats, his voice controlled. "Please leave."

I stare at them. Duo shifts his gaze from Wufei to me, and I see some of the anger disappear. He stares at me pleadingly, begging for understanding. He needed comfort. He needed to be touched. He needed a few moments peace from the agonizing thoughts of what he has lost.

I see that in his gaze. I feel his pain, radiating from him in waves, and I sway, physically knocked off balance from the weight of the suffering diffusing off of him. I feel it. I understand. I sympathize.

But my gaze sweeps over him again, over the rumpled bed, his tousled hair. I see a bruise on his neck, a mark left by Heero's mouth, and I suddenly feel the stirrings of an emotion I don't often allow myself to experience. Anger.

I understand Duo's pain, his sense of abandonment, of loss, of guilt and grief. I have felt all those things, and I didn't have the intimate connection to Trowa that Duo did. I sympathize with his need for escape.

But what must Trowa be feeling? I don't want to even think of the agonies - physical, mental and emotional - that he must be enduring right now. And there is no escape for him, no moment's forgetfulness, no warm body to hold him and protect him from the bitter reality of the present. I am angry that Duo sought and found this respite from his suffering, when Trowa must endure his alone.

"Have you no decency?" Wufei hisses at the pair in the bed. "How could you so dishonor Barton?"

"Shut _up_ , Wufei!" Duo shouts, sitting up in the bed, his face contorted with rage.

"You'll listen to everything I have to say, Maxwell," Wufei shoots back. "You don't want to hear it, I know. You don't want to face how despicable an act this is. You don't want to admit your guilt."

This has to stop. I understand Wufei's rage - agree with it in some measure - but tearing each other apart like this will help nothing.

"You're a self-righteous, sanctimonious bastard, Wufei," Duo accuses angrily.

"Did you ever really care about him at all?" Wufei demands heatedly. "Or was it all just an act, like he thought?"

"How _dare_ you ask me that!" Duo rages.

"How dare _I_?" Wufei repeats incredulously. "He's been gone a _day_! He's gone to die, for us, and in a matter of hours after you find out about his loss you're in bed with someone else? How could you forget him so quickly? How could you do him such an injustice?"

"It's not like that, Wufei," Duo insists, and the anger in his tone has diminished. His voice is softer, desperate, pleading for understanding.

"You both disgust me," Wufei tells them coldly, his face implacable.

"That's enough," Heero interrupts suddenly. His expression is as cold as Wufei's. "You go too far."

" _You_ are in no position to tell _me_ that I have overstepped my limits," Wufei returns, sneering.

"Wufei, please. Quatre - explain it to him!" Duo entreats, turning toward me again.

I have to stop this before it escalates further. I must push aside the anger I feel on Trowa's behalf to save what is left of our team. We have, after all, a mission to accomplish.

I open my mouth to speak the words of reason that are my duty to give voice to, to ensure that we can all put aside our hurts and angers to a more appropriate time.

Before I can speak, though, I am struck with a pain the like of which I've never experienced. The ache is extreme, intense; it feels as though someone has punched me as hard as they could, directly in the center of my chest. I cry out and fall to my knees, feeling an equal pain in my head, and in my throat, and a sudden burning flash across my back.

At the same instant an intense awareness, a familiar sense, permeates my being.

 _Trowa_.

I am used to the way Trowa feels. All of my friends, all of the former pilots, have their own particular presence, and all of them have been inside my soul so many times that I'm used to them. The emotional sensation of each of them is almost like an old pair of shoes or a favorite blanket - warm, familiar, comfortable.

But this - this feeling is unlike any I've ever felt before. I've felt Trowa fear before, felt suffering and pain from him. But nothing like this. The anguish and agony and terror are so intense that they almost overwrite the familiar signature that is Trowa.

I cry out again, dimly aware that Wufei is by my side, holding on to me, shaking me, frantically trying to discover what is wrong. I clasp my hands over my ears as a voice - Trowa's voice - echoes in my ears.

 _"NOOO! HELP ME!"  
_ "Trowa!" I gasp. What's wrong? What's happened? I have to go, have to help him, have to save Trowa…

"Quatre! _Quatre_!" I'm jerked suddenly back to reality by two sharp slaps to my face. I jump, startled, and Wufei's anxious face suddenly jumps into focus in front of mine.

"Trowa!" I manage, feeling my body wracked with sudden shudders. "Merciful Allah, Wufei, didn't you hear him?"

"Hear what, Quatre?" Wufei demands, his face drawn with worry and fear - fear for more than me, now.

"Trowa," I gasp. "Wufei, Trowa's…something's very wrong with Trowa. We have to help him."

Wufei's eyes close, as if in pain. "Quatre, we…"

"What is it?" Duo interrupts. Suddenly he is beside me too, and a corner of my mind notes with startling irrelevance that he's managed to put shorts on. "Quatre, what happened to Trowa?" His violet eyes are frantic, the fear in them apparent.

I shake my head. "I don't know," I choke. "Such pain…" I touch my chest with one hand, sliding the other behind me to touch my back.

Heero kneels down beside us, his blue eyes almost black with despair. "Quatre. Is he…" He stops, unable to continue. But I know what he's asking.

"I don't know," I admit. "By Allah, Heero, it was terrible. I've never felt anything like that before."

"You felt pain?" Wufei asks clinically, trying to analyze the experience.

I nod. "Not just physical pain, Wufei. He's being…he's being tortured," I manage. Duo lets out a choked cry and I am sorry to bring him this pain. But I can't contain it - I can't bear it alone. Like Trowa is.

"I heard him, Wufei," I insist, staring into the dark eyes above mine. "I heard his voice. He asked…he asked for help."

"Asked you?" Wufei questions.

I shrug helplessly. "Not exactly…it was just….just a cry. To anyone I think. A cry for help."

Duo pushes himself to his feet, and I see the grimly determined look on his face. "We have to go," he announces, surveying the room, apparently trying to determine the best path through the broken glass to his clothes. "He needs help. We have to help him."

"Duo." Heero doesn't rise; he remains kneeling beside me. "We can't, Duo."

"What the hell do you mean, we can't?" Duo shrieks.

"We can't," Heero repeats inexorably. "They'll kill him the minute they see us coming. And we can't sneak up on it - we have no idea what their monitoring capabilities are."

"But…" Duo's face crumbles. "Trowa's…he's in pain, Heero," he says, and he sounds lost. "He needs help. He needs us. He…"

"We _can't_ , Duo," Heero says, and the sorrow in his voice is real and raw and unyielding. "We can't do anything."

Duo stares at him for a long minute, and the realization of the truth of Heero's words slowly appears on his face. I lower my head, unable to look at him any more, and my shoulders begin to shake with sobs I can't contain. I'm aware of Duo slowly sinking back to the floor. I feel his head on my shoulder, then Wufei's arms around me, Heero's strong hand on my back and his hard chest under my cheek. We all crouch there on the floor in a miserable huddle, the knowledge of Trowa's torment and our own helplessness roiling unceasingly among us.

 _This will not go unpunished, Trowa_ , I vow silently, drawing strength from the presence of my companions. _Whoever has hurt you like this, he will hurt in double measure. I swear it upon the soul of my father._

I know that each of the men surrounding me are making similar vows. And I know that each of them are as painfully aware as I of the futility and essential uselessness of such vows. But we will see them through. There is nothing else we can do.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> by Shoori

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from Dacia, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [A Little Piece of Gundam Wing](https://fanlore.org/wiki/A_Little_Piece_Of_Gundam_Wing), which closed in 2017. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after July 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [a little piece of gundam wing collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/alittlepieceofgundamwing/profile).
> 
> WARNING: NCS!!!

I feel cool air drift across my skin as the body that had been pressing me down against the rough surface of the floor finally finishes its act and moves away. I don't really know if its Barton or Oslo. I don't even care.

Whoever it is wanders away, but not before they rub their hand roughly over my back, painfully pressing the open wounds and half-healed scabs that cover the skin there.

I shudder uncontrollably, and am aware of a mild disgust as I hear the pained whimper that escapes my throat, and the laugh the sound provokes from the departing man. That kind of touch is the only thing that still has the power to disturb me after all this time. And it does; God it does. They know it. I think on some level they realize that everything else, all my other protests and struggles, are a sham. I stopped caring about what they do to me what seems like a very long time ago. I need to act, to behave in the manner in which they expect for the sake of the mission. In reality, I feel nothing. The abuses they've heaped on me have been many and creative, but I've hardly noticed them in weeks.

Except when they involve my back.

Every time the whip descends on me, every time an open gash is prodded or an older wound reopened, every time insolent fingers chafe the abraded skin I want to scream, to cry, to be gone. I want to die.

That's my only goal, the only thought that occupies my mind. I'm not really sure how long I've been here. It feels like forever - even when I try, I can barely remember anything that happened to me before I came here. The faces of my friends have faded; at times even their names elude me. The one thing I can hold on to is the mission.

I have to have been here for weeks, at least. They've been toying with me. They push, and push, until I think I'm going to finally be released, finally escape…then they back off. They leave, and I am allowed to rest, am given food, water. I slowly drift away from the edge of that precipice, regain some strength, begin to remember, resolve not to be broken again…and then they return. And it all begins again, with even more fury for having been postponed.

But soon…soon the production of the new suits will have been completed. Soon, the possibility of Barton's forces discovering the base will no longer be a threat. Soon I will no longer have to struggle to heal, to live, to avoid falling into nothingness.

Soon, I can die.

I must admit, that had I been able to find the opportunity, it's possible that I would be dead already, mission notwithstanding. But they've been careful. My hands have not been unbound since the first day I was here. Whenever I am alone - which is rare - my arms are bound tightly behind me, my elbows bound together, in bonds that I am not able to escape. The blindfold has been an almost constant fixture. My world has been one of almost perpetual darkness.

Soon, though, I will be free. Even if I am not able to die on my own, soon the attack will come. Five weeks, I told them. It _has_ to be close to that time. The attack will come, and I will perish with the rest of the insurgents on this colony.

We will all die.

And I will be free.

_____________________________________

I stand in front of the large viewing portals at the top of the base, staring up at the stars.

I've stood here a lot in the last month. I've been watching, and waiting.

So far, it hasn't done me a lot of good.

I close my eyes and count to a hundred, sure that when I open them, the thing that I'm looking for will be there.

I used to do this when I was a kid, back on L2. I used to convince myself that if I could count all the way to a hundred, without stopping or even thinking of anything else, when I opened my eyes somehow something to eat would have appeared in front of me.

I open my eyes, and scan the empty sky.

Nope. It doesn't work any better now then it did then.

I hear a step behind me, and turn around to see who's joining me in my vigil.

I nod slightly when I see Heero, then continue staring out into space.

"Anything?" he asks abruptly, standing beside me and scanning the sky himself.

I shake my head. "Not yet!" I say as brightly as I can, trying to inject some optimism into my tone. "But you know, the day's not over yet. Not that you can tell in space, really, since there's really no orbit on these satellites, and they're not rotating, so day and night as they exist on earth don't really happen. But, by earth time, its only about eight p.m., so I guess you could say that its technically ‘day,' even though there's no light to separate it…"

He's not listening to me. It doesn't matter - I'm not listening to me. I'm just talking to fill up the silence, to try to distract us both from what we're looking for.

There's another sound behind me, and this time its Quatre and Wufei. They don't say anything, they just stand beside us and stare.

I can't keep babbling, not that any of them would be inclined to listen. I can't talk at all.

It's been a month to the day since Trowa left. If he's coming back alive, he said he would be back today. There's less than four hours of ‘today' left, so if he's not back within four hours, he's not going to be back.

I try to suppress that thought. For a moment, I look at my companions instead of at the stubbornly empty sky.

Quatre looks terrible. He's pale and drawn, and there are dark circles under his eyes. Ever since that terrible day he got that message from Trowa, he's been trying to establish some kind of contact. He hasn't succeeded. I think he's torn between being upset by what that failure might imply, and being relieved that he hasn't made contact. I don't think he really wanted to experience that again. Can't blame him, really. I know I wouldn't.

The signs of stress are less visible on Wufei's impassive face, but they're there. He looks tired, and angry. He's been working crazy insane hours on the mobile suits. It's like he's trying to build the entire force himself. He's worried about Quatre. He's worried about Trowa. He's still mad at me and Heero.

Heero.

I stare at his face. His expression is calm, but the skin around his eyes is tight and his mouth is grim. He and I have been together every night since that first. Every night, we have helped each other, gained a brief escape from the thought of what's happening to Trowa, and from the thought of how we made his last weeks of freedom, perhaps of life, unhappy.

But Heero…This has been unfair to him. There has been too much going on around us to concentrate _on_ us. I don't even know if there _is_ an us. I don't know if he _wants_ there to be an us. I don't know, if Trowa is truly dead, if I could ever again have the sort of relationship I had with him with anyone else.

But I know I can't be alone.

And I know I want to be with Heero.

He hasn't said it, but I think he believes I am with him only because I need to be with someone. But that's not true. The shock of Trowa's departure made me realize how fragile love can be. It can't keep people with you, and it can't make the people you love happy. But I'll be damned if I ever waste it again.

So. I love Heero. But I don't know what will happen. What will happen when…if…Trowa returns? I don't think that that declaration will thrill him. I love Trowa. If he's returned to me, nothing - not even him - will keep me away from him again. But I can't just blithely send Heero away, either. I need them both.

Of course, it may not be an issue.

Please God, let me have that problem. Please, let me have to sort out how to keep both the men I love in my life. I ask for nothing but to have that dilemma.

I stare back into space. We've been standing here for hours now. Still, nothing.

Nothing. He's not there. He's not coming.

"It's after midnight," Wufei says suddenly.

Silence.

"He…he didn't come," Quatre murmurs.

"A few more minutes…" I beg. XV7870 is a long way away. And who knows what routes he may have had to take to elude pursuit?

"It's one a.m.," Wufei says finally.

"He's not coming," Quatre confirms dully.

"Trowa is…gone," Heero whispers hoarsely.

No. It can't be. He's been delayed, or they're making it difficult to find the route back, or he got delayed in a stop for fuel…

"We need to plan the attack," Wufei tells us flatly. "It will commence six days from today. When the troops wake up, we'll each take charge of a squadron and start intensive training with the new machines."

"NO!" I protest, shouting at him. "There's still time! There's still…"

"Maxwell," Wufei snaps, stopping me cold. "Trowa isn't coming back. He said he'd be back by now. He is dead."

"Shut up!" I bellow. "He's not! He's -,"

"Duo," Quatre interrupts. His voice is barely louder than a whisper, but I still hear him. "Don't do this. Don't do it to yourself, or us. It won't bring him back, and it won't make things any easier."

I stare at him. That's the closest to sharp Quatre's been with me this whole time. It must be…he believes…It's true.

"We have to plan the attack," Heero says, his voice lifeless. "And we have to win. Otherwise, it was for nothing."

The others nod, and I feel my head move in the same gesture, but I don't feel it, don't connect the movement to any emotion I'm experiencing. Whatever happens, it _was_ for nothing. Trowa died because of some stupid, rich, spoiled asshole going off on a power trip. He died for _nothing_.

Even that thought doesn't provoke the rage I expect, that I want. I feel cold. I feel nothing. I wonder if this is how Trowa felt when he wore his 03 face.

Quatre and Wufei are gone, suddenly, and I am alone with Heero. I stare again at the stars, still hoping…But there's still nothing. And I still feel nothing. Something in me has died with Trowa.

Then Heero puts his arms around me, and silently draws me against him. He holds me tightly, and the comfort he silently offers wakes something in me. As I drench his shirt front with my grief, I realize that all emotion isn't dead after all. There's still heartache.

And sorrow.

And hate.

Trowa Barton, son of Dekim Barton, will _pay_.

Shinigami is after his soul.

________________________________________

"Wake up. Damn you, _wake up_."

The harshly voiced command wakes me out of the state of half-aware slumber that's been an almost constant state for so long.

"Nanashi! Are you... damn it, I don't have time for this bullshit."

I feel rough hands on my face and suddenly, amazingly, the blindfold that has covered my features for so long is gone.

I squint. Even the meager amount of illumination lighting this room that I've been imprisoned in for all this time seems bright after so much time spent in the darkness.

The blurry images dancing before my face slowly swim into focus. _He's_ standing in front of me.

I'm hanging from my arms in the middle of the room. My hands are bound together, held above me by some sort of chain apparatus attached to the ceiling. I asked him early on if all this bdsm gear was inherited from his mother. He didn't seem too excited by the question.

I guess it touched a nerve.

Even the inconsequential tangents that I desperately try to send my thoughts off on can't keep me from the complete, humiliating realization that I'm displayed stark naked and bound in the middle of this horrible room, with Barton a foot in front of me, smirking as his gaze sweeps my body. I thought it was bad when I was blindfolded. But somehow, it's even worse to know he's looking at me like this, it's even more demeaning to see the hunger in his eyes as he stares at me.

"I've found it, Nanashi," he whispers, reaching out to touch me. My lip curls in disgust as his fingers trail across my nipples, rubbing them between his fingers.

He laughs at my obvious revulsion for him. He loves it - he feeds on it. That's why I've had to let him see it, had to let him know how he affected me.

I didn't want to. I didn't want to give him the power over me that knowledge of my emotions gives him.

But I had to.

For the mission.

"I've found your little base," he tells me, pressing himself against my leg. I feel his erection through his pants, and shudder.

I don't reply. He's told me that before, tried to get me to believe that he had found the location, to convince me that all was lost so that I would betray the others.

The others.

I struggle, try to remember them. How could I forget them? It seems that it should be wrong that I could do that... But it seems so long ago.

I force my awareness of Barton away, try to remember... I recall a long braid of chestnut hair... the sound of violin music... the smell of incense and a sleek black head bowed in prayer... a figure, clad in black spandex and a green tank top, striding toward me, backlit by flames...

"Nanashi!" I'm jerked painfully back to awareness as Barton drags his fingers roughly down my back.

With difficulty, I hold back a scream of anguish. My back. He _has_ to stop touching my back or I'll... I'll...

I almost laugh at the irony. Or I'll what? There's nothing I can do. My vision wavers in and out as hot flashes of pain pulse through my body.

I suddenly realize in an abrupt moment of lucidity that that's probably why I can't remember my friends, why I can't formulate plans to escape, why I can't seem to focus on anything. My back. It would be a damn miracle if it weren't infected. I shiver as I realize how cool the air in the room feels. Fever. I must have a fever, from the continually inflicted, constantly prodded, never-treated gashes on my back.

I feel a little better. At least I know. I wonder how bad it is. It'd be strange if gangrene or infection finished me off before the attack.

I force my attention back to Barton. I really don't want him to touch my back again.

"... we know the coordinates," he's telling me.

Again, I don't reply. He insisted that he knew the coordinates before. I don't believe him.

"Oslo!" he calls suddenly over his shoulder.

Another figure moves into view. I sneer as I see the leader of White Fang, impeccably clad in the dramatic black uniform Barton has selected for his forces.

Oslo just doesn't cut it. He's not as smart as Quinze, he's not as evil as Barton, he's not as suave as Treize. He's just a second string bad guy. Expendable.

Oslo's lips twist in a lewd half-smile as his eyes rake over my exposed form. Something inside me clenches with shame.

"Oslo, Nanashi here doesn't believe that we've found his base," Barton tells him. "Would you read him those coordinates?"

The leader of White Fang smirks at me. He pulls a small piece of paper from his pocket, and reads off the coordinates.

My God, he _has_ found it. Barton has found the base.

I struggle to keep any expression from my face, to look bored, or amused even. I feel my legs tremble. He's found them.

"Don't try to fool us, Nanashi," Barton advises, his hand sliding down the front of my body, over the many bruises and cuts that he's inflicted over the past weeks. "We know it's there. We know."

It doesn't matter. It _doesn't_. They've had time... they must have... they _must_ be prepared by now. They might be on their way here, even now.

"We do want to know a few things," Barton continues, his hand moving roughly and insolently between my legs. I start, trying to pull away, but there's nowhere to go.

"Tell me about the defenses, Nanashi," he instructs, his mouth close to my ear. "Who's in charge? What are they planning?" He squeezes me painfully, while his other hand begins to run lightly, menacingly, up and down my ruined back.

"Why bother to protect them, Nanashi?" he whispers insidiously, his voice surrounding me. "They didn't come for you. We haven't seen anything, in the whole month and more since you've been here. They didn't even try to save you."

They didn't even try... But I told them not to. And he said... I've been here... a month and more. They must be planning the attack. They could arrive any moment. I've completed my mission. I feel a surge of relief sweep through me, so intense that my legs give out completely and I'm left hanging only by my arms. _Ninmu_ _kanryou_.

"They don't care about you, Nanashi." He laughs cruelly. "It's pathetic, really. You come here, and none of them back you up... "

His laughter fades away abruptly as something occurs to him. "Why did you come here, Nanashi?" His hand grabs my chin and yanks it up so I'm staring into his eyes. "What the hell was the purpose of this? What have they been doing? Why didn't they come for you?"

I stare into his blue eyes and see the angry suspicion in them. "About time you asked that question," I comment, managing to summon a weak specter of a derisive laugh. "Any sensible person would have thought about it as soon as I showed up, but a month isn't bad reaction time for a Barton... "

I'm cut off as his fist slams across my face, jerking my head back and filling my mouth with blood. This happens every time I insult him. You'd think I'd learn.

"Tell me what they're planning," he demands. His face contorted with his rage at my mockery. "Tell me now, or you'll wish you had."

Suddenly, that old threat doesn't strike the same fear and dread into me that it has since I was a kid back on L3, working as a mechanic for the Bartons. Now, it just leaves me feeling tired. Tired and weary and wanting to rest. I force my head into an upright position, and open my eyes staring directly at him. He gazes back at me, demanding - demanding I tell him what he wants to know, demanding that I betray my companions.

I summon the last of my energy.

"Tell me, Nanashi!"

"Fuck you, Barton," I reply, as clearly as I can.

I see the frenzied look in his eye. This is the end. It's the curse of all the Bartons, really. Most of the time, they're coldly intelligent, efficient, ruthless; evil. But when they're thwarted - when they realize that they won't get their way, when their plans have gone awry, when they're losing - they forfeit all of that chilling cunning. A rage so great as to be madness claims control of them and of their actions. It was in this mood that Dekim tried to shoot Relena, this madness was what made him claim that his granddaughter was expendable and led his own minion to kill him. This insane fury gave Barton himself the confidence to turn his back on Doktor S. and his assistant, after announcing his plans to use their creation to unleash death onto the world.

But now, the only thing for Barton to focus that madness on is me.

The death I have been seeking is come.

"Fine, Nanashi," he breathes, and I see the insanity in his eyes. "Your wish is my command."

Then he's behind me, and I try to brace myself, knowing what's coming.

A groan escapes me as he pounds into me, the pain intensifying as he grabs my hips and pushes deeper inside.

"You know, Nanashi, I always enjoyed you like this," he grunts as he continues to thrust into me. "I think it's what you were born for. I missed you. I've enjoyed our time together here. I can't wait until I take over that base and can meet all your friends... like this...

 _No_! A fear more deep than any I've felt tears through me. I feel a physical pain in my chest at the thought of the others in the hands of this madman... A pained wail that I can't hold back comes from my throat at the thought.

"Oh yes," he promises, his breath coming hard as he continues to move. "You didn't think I would deny them what I've given you, did you? You certainly are unique, but even you aren't _that_ special, Nanashi."

He _can't_! I came here... I fulfilled my mission... He won't... They...

"Chang first, I think," he determines, one hand moving upwards to scrape over my back. I barely notice, consumed with the thought of... Chang... of... of... _Wufei_!... at the mercies of this man. His... honor... he would never be able to bear this degradation...

"Then... that Winner boy," Barton tells me, moving more slowly inside me as he tries to stretch out this moment, combining this mental agony with the physical agony he's been showering on me for weeks. "I knew his father. Didn't like him. A bit of payback is in order."

Winner...Quatre! Gentle, cultured Quatre... this brutality would break him...

"Next, I think, Yuy." His pace has picked up again. He's really liking this. "I have a fancy to try out the guy Her Majesty the Queen hand-picked for herself. If nothing else, he's sure to be well-trained."

 _No_. Not Heero. Heero would be disgusted, forever damaged. He would fight his way out, and spend the rest of his life trying to escape himself, escape what had happened to him. He would never be Heero again. Barton would do what the war could not - Barton would break Heero Yuy.

"And finally... the best for last." Barton's voice is strained now, his words come harder, his breath short. He's almost at the apex of his lust, but he's still taunting me. "Maxwell. He's got to be something special for you to have spent so much time with him, Nanashi. I really respect your taste, you know." He thrusts harder into me. "Did you teach him any of the things I taught you?"

I throw back my head and cry out, a hoarse sound of despair, trying to drive away the thought of Duo in Barton's hands. Duo, miserably trying to free himself as Barton and Oslo laugh at his struggles. Duo, bound and bloody, his hair tangled in the bleeding gashes Barton opens on his back. The despairing expression in his violet eyes as Barton forces himself into him, tears him...

"No!" I shout aloud, forcing my eyes open, unable to bear the pictures in my head. My gaze lights on Oslo, who is staring at me with a lustful gleam in his eye, his mouth slack with desire. I see the bulge in his black uniform pants.

God, Duo can never have to see these things. I must protect him. I must protect them all.

"Damn you, Barton!" I shout, struggling as best I can against the chains and the body pressed against me. "You sick fucking bastard... what the hell is wrong with you? You're going to die, Barton, do you hear me?! You'll die and burn... I'll fucking kill you myself, you disgusting asshole... "

He interrupts me with a loud shout, and I shudder as I feel him release himself into me. He stands there for a moment, hanging on to me to keep his balance, then he pulls away from me.

I hear him adjusting his clothes. I'm trembling with rage.

"I think you have it backwards, Nanashi," his says softly, and I can still hear the madness in his voice. "We know where the base is; we have no more need for you. I don't know what you've planned with your friends, but I know how to stop it. Maybe I'll get them to tell me - when they're hanging where you are now."

"You bastard!" I repeat. "Don't you dare even _think_ about it, you sick bastard! I'll kill you with my bare hands before I let you... "

"Again, you have it _backwards_!" he interrupts in a shout. "You won't kill me, Nanashi. You won't be able to. I'm killing you first."

I hear the all-too-familiar swooshing sound, and an instant later I feel the whip across my back. I open my mouth and scream as the edge of the lash cuts into all the already-existing wounds.

"I've had enough of you, Nanashi!" Barton shouts over the sounds of the blows and my cries. "It's time to end this. For good!"

The lash falls again and again and again. I hear my cries get weaker, and slowly subside all together. Again and again I feel the streaks of pain across my skin. My awareness begins to dim, blackness surrounds my vision until I see only a small speck of light.

I can't let it go out! I can't fade away. I have another mission, a mission even more important than the first. I have to protect them all from Barton. I have to warn them. I can't let him get them - I can't let him get Duo.

The whip is still falling on my back. The madness still holds Barton - he hasn't realized my struggles have stopped, that I'm almost... that I'm...

"Sir! Mr. Barton!" I hear the voice from very far away. "Sir, that's enough!"

I hang limply from the chains, struggling not to move, not to breathe, yet to remain conscious, to remain alive.

"You can stop... he's dead."

Oslo. It must be Oslo. Barton would have continued - he should continue - until there was nothing left of me. If there's anything he's taught me, it's to be sure that your enemy is dead.

But Barton doesn't heed his own lesson. He stops. I must not let the blackness engulf me. I must remain conscious.

I feel his hand on my neck. Fortunately, I don't have the strength to pull away.

Suddenly, he's gone. I hear the sound of footsteps hurrying across the room.

"Get rid of it," he orders. He must be almost gone by now.

"What do you want me to... "

"I don't care!" he bellows. "Just get rid of it!"

The insanity has passed, and he's horrified by how completely it controlled him. He'll go now, try to forget, to collect himself. He's left Oslo with the duty of getting rid of the body. Mistake two.

"... .crazy mother fucker... " I hear Oslo muttering. I force my eyes to open just a little, just a little slit.

It's hard to focus. I wonder how much blood I've lost. Can I even stand, much less escape? I have to. I _have_ to.

I feel Oslo very close to me. He's undoing the chains on my hands. My body buckles as my arms are released. He catches me, and, with a disgusted sound, hoists me over his shoulder, careful not to let my bleeding back touch his uniform.

He pauses to adjust my weight. "What the fuck am I supposed to do with this... " he grumbles.

I open my eyes. I move my head slightly, and see the bulge of his gun, sticking out of the back of his pants. What an idiotic place to put it. What the hell does he think he is, some kind of badass space cowboy?

"... biggest bunch of crap I've ever seen... _Quinze_ never acted like this... " He sighs exaggeratedly, obviously trying to figure out where the best place to dump my body is.

I close my eyes tightly, gathering my strength. Very slowly, I wrap the fingers of one hand around the butt of his gun. Then, quickly, I lift the other hand and brace it on his shoulder. In the same movement, I dig one foot into his stomach as hard as I can, pushing against his shoulder. He goes stumbling backwards from the force of my blow, while I fly in the opposite direction, landing hard on my injured back. Damn! But at least... it worked! I have...

"Don't come a step closer to me, Oslo," I order in as firm a voice as I can. That landing took a lot out of me, and I didn't have a lot to begin with. "You'd better start talking."

"You couldn't... " he begins, swaggering toward me.

I take careful aim and fire the gun.

He shrieks and falls to the floor, his hand pressed to the side of his head. He stares up at me, and slowly sticks his hand out, staring at the blood covering it.

"It's just a flesh wound, Oslo - this time. Next time, I'll shoot your damn hand off," I tell him coldly. "Now, I want some information. Where are the suits?"

"I'm not telling you a damn thing," he spits.

I raise the gun again.

"Wait!" he shouts, panic dawning in his eyes. This guy is a great torturer, but he seems to be very rapidly falling apart with just a little taste of his own medicine.

"The suits, Oslo."

"In the dock," he tells me stupidly.

I sigh, and carefully sight the gun.

"Wait! Stop! What the hell do you... "

"Where's the dock, Oslo?" I ask impatiently. "How do you get there from here?"

"I can't... Barton will kill me if I tell you... "

"And I'll kill you if you don't," I point out reasonably. "At least you'll prolong the inevitable."

He stares at me angrily for a moment, then tells me where the dock is. It's not that far. Apparently, Barton likes to keep all his toys in one place.

"And what's the code for the lock?" I ask, ostentatiously fingering the trigger.

He curses me for a minute, then grudgingly tells me the code.

Oslo is just not impressive. Barton should have known better than to ally with White Fang. Amateurs.

"Well, Oslo, this is your lucky day," I tell him as I slowly manage to get to my feet. I sway slightly, but years of training are beginning to kick in. I can't allow weakness to overcome me this close to escape.

I stare at him, see the relief sweep over his face, as well as a trace of arrogant contempt that tells me he sees my ‘mercy' as weakness.

"Definitely your lucky day," I muse. "Because I just don't have the time to play with you the way you deserve. So I'll just have to shoot you."

The relief on his face is abruptly gone and he begins to babble, protesting, begging for his life. I shake my head, raise my arm and wearily pull the trigger.

A neat black hole appears in Oslo's forehead. Slowly, he falls backwards, hitting the ground with a loud thump.

I arm the gun, carefully approaching the body. The hole is directly in the center of his head - there's no way he could have survived that.

But always be sure the enemy is dead. Lesson one.

I kneel beside him, and place the gun against his ear. I pull the trigger again.

Definitely dead. I sneer at the corpse, and the gore fanning out from the wounds in his head.

"Not impressive, Oslo," I mutter as I begin stripping his clothes off.

I fold the arms of his undershirt in, and arrange it to cover my back. I wince as I feel the fabric begin to stick to the open wounds, but this impromptu bandage is the best I can do. The long-sleeved black shirt is perfect - it will hide my other wounds and any blood that seeps through as well.

I take his pants and shoes, but can't bring myself to purloin the socks or underwear. I'll have to resign myself to blisters and chafing - some things even practicality can't overcome my objections to.

I let myself carefully out of the small room that has been my world for a month, sparing one last glance for Oslo. One down. One to go.

But not now. Now I have to get out, so I can get back and warn the others.

Maybe then I can rest.

I'm so tired.

Moving as stealthily as I can, I sneak into the dock. I expect trouble, but, amazingly, noone is there. No mechanics, no guards... nothing.

Barton is cocky.

Of course, the colony is big. Their surveillance systems would let them know if anyone were approaching. Why waste men on guarding completed suits when they could be building others?

I wonder if their force is really any bigger than ours.

My eye is drawn at once to the suit that looms over the others - the Gundam.

I won't call it Heavyarms. It isn't. But it'll do.

I find the ground control for the mounting strip, and carefully ride up. I strap myself into the pilot's seat and look around me. Everything is amazingly familiar.

As I'm about to program the coordinates in and blast out, an idea occurs to me.

I've got to discourage pursuit, after all.

This all seems very unreal. I wonder if it's just a dream.

I push a few buttons. The suit hums, metal grinds on metal. The guns are armed.

Another button. The suit moves into the air, the doors of the dock begin to creak open. Way up, the lock covering the colony is opening too.

The suit glides to the end of the dock. I turn, and take aim...

The suits directly in my line of fire explode. The suits behind them are taken out in the explosion... the heat from those explosions ignite the fuel tanks of the other suits...

My suit is blown out of the dock by the answering force. I lean hard on one lever, and the suit grudgingly responds, moving upwards toward the lock.

Below me, explosions are continuing. Suits are exploding. I laugh.

A signal shrills loudly. The comm signal.

"... the hell are you doing? What caused these explosions? Who authorized you to... "

I flick on the video feed. Trowa Barton's shocked, angry gaze meets mine.

"Nanashi," he whispers, stunned. Then, "Close the lock!" he bellows to someone behind him.

"I'll just shoot it open, Barton," I tell him calmly.

"You will pay for this, Nanashi," he growls in a low voice.

"You had your chance, Barton. Now we're even. Always be sure your enemy is dead," I warn him..

"Oh, I will, Nanashi," he answers grimly. "Have no fear of that."

"I make you the same promise, Barton," I reply as my suit darts through the lock.

I break the feed, unwilling to continue to exchange threats with Barton. I quickly enter the code to close the lock. It's doubtful he'll follow me at this point, with Oslo dead, and suits exploding and his Gundam gone - but I want to make it as difficult as possible should the madness come to rule him again.

My fingers fumble as I enter the coordinates for the base. I hope he doesn't follow. I hope this Gundam can execute the journey on automatic. I hope I get to the others in time. I hope... the blackness that has been threatening for so long finally engulfs me, and I feel nothing else.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> by Shoori

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from Dacia, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [A Little Piece of Gundam Wing](https://fanlore.org/wiki/A_Little_Piece_Of_Gundam_Wing), which closed in 2017. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after July 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [a little piece of gundam wing collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/alittlepieceofgundamwing/profile).

"Three days," Wufei snaps, his black eyes darker than ever with anger. "We're supposed to commence this attack in three days, and _now_ you're telling us that you're _unsure_ whether the carrier will be able to transport all the troops over to the colony's space?"

"It's not like I've been sitting on the information for months," Une snaps. "The problem was just brought to my attention too."

"So we're supposed to…what, exactly? Ferry the troops over? Have them sit on XV7889 and wait for us to make a few more trips? Why don't we just run ads on some of the interstellar networks announcing the date and time of our projected assault?"

They continue to bicker. I stop listening. I don't really care.

That's unusual, and it bothers me slightly. But I haven't been able to care about much in the past few days. Not since I realized that Trowa really wasn't coming back.

The only time I've really been able to feel anything has been when I'm with Heero. He seems to understand, and gives me just what I need. Pure, physical comfort. He touches me, and lets me touch him. He holds me when I want him to, and even when I tell him I don't. He talks about nothing, like I usually do. I don't really listen, like he usually does. We both feel obscurely better for the non-conversation. For a little while. Then we feel guilty for feeling better. Then we feel sad again. Then we need comfort, physical comfort…and the whole thing starts up again.

Yeah, it's been a real laugh riot here at Good Guy Central.

I glance up, trying to gauge the progression of the argument without listening to it. Une and Wufei are both glaring at each other. Quatre is speaking soothingly. I bet he gets damn tired of that. Heero is looking at me.

I smile at him, my old broad grin. He frowns. He knows it's phony.

How has he come to know me so well in so short a time?

I mean, he's known me forever. But how has he suddenly figured me out?

Well, mostly. Noone totally has me figured out. Not even me.

I smile slightly at that thought, and the expression is genuine this time. Heero's still watching me, and he relaxes slightly. He even looks away. Call the press.

The argument heats up, and the raised voices catch my attention.

"…will _not_ let this attack be compromised! Do you understand, Une? I don't _care_ how the hell we get there, I don't _care_ if I have to do it myself, but _I **will** destroy him_!"

I stare at Wufei, startled. His face is dark with anger, his breath is coming fast, and he's actually trembling with the force of his emotion. He glares defiantly at each of us, and turns and strides to a corner of the room, unwilling to face us and the understanding we have finally gained from his outburst.

He doesn't want to destroy Barton's force because of the threat they present to the Earth or the colonies. He's not doing it to protect the peace. He's not even doing it for honor or justice. Wufei is out to destroy Barton because of Trowa. Because Trowa was his friend, and Wufei loved him.

And Wufei feels that that is too personal or petty a reason to fight a war, that war is a thing that should be embarked upon only for a great and glorious cause.

I'm torn between a desire to applaud him and smack him. Doesn't he realize that fighting for Trowa - for friendship, for love - is one of the best reasons to fight at all?

How did we all get so emotionally repressed?

Well, whether or not Wufei realizes it, he's right.

It's time I got interested in this war.

Suddenly, just as I make this momentous decision, alarms begin to blare incessantly.

We all jump, startled.

"What the hell is happening?" Heero demands.

"Commander Une!" A pale soldier bursts into the room. "It's the Gundam! The Gundam is approaching!"

I always did have the damnedest sense of timing.

_____________________________________

I'm awaked by a tremendous crash, then a burst of pain as I'm violently shaken. I open my eyes. I look around, at the bright metal, the flashing lights. There's another crash, another upheaval. I shake my head, scowling.

The Gundam! I stole…Barton!

A wave of panic sweeps me. I won't be captured again. He'll have to kill me…but the mission…I have another…

My mission!

Suddenly awareness returns. With it, comes debilitating pain. I've been sliding in and out of consciousness since I escaped. I have little memory of the past hours, but I must be near…

I check the coordinates. Near? I'm there! I've made it to the base. Soon, my next mission will be accomplished…and then…

I can't check a scream as the Gundam reels from a third impact. The safety restraint is holding me in place, but the force of the collision jars every one of the wounds on my body.

I flick on the exterior cameras. There it is - the base! As I stare at it, I see a flash of light from one side. They're firing on me!

"Son of a bitch!" I shout, yanking on the control to dodge the blast. The machine responds reluctantly, sluggishly, and I barely manage to get out of the way.

"Well, isn't this just wonderful," I mutter under my breath. My vision is swimming. I'm on the verge of passing out. This is just great.

I irritably program in the frequency we use for communications. I hope they haven't changed it in my absence. It would be a not-very-amusing irony for me to have escaped death at the hands of my enemy, in his ship, only to be shot down by my own side.

"Come in. Come in, Preventers Base," I call as crisply as I can, hoping that they'll pick me up.

I am going to be very pissed off if they fire at me again.

______________________________________

"…hear me? Come in, Preventers Base."

I frown. Who is that? The voice is raspy, scratchy. It can't possibly be familiar - but somehow it is.

"Is that the Gundam?" Heero asks intently, scowling as he stares at the camera images of the huge machine outside.

"Seems to be," Une replies, frowning slightly.

"He's trying to reach us," Quatre murmurs.

"Establish contact," Wufei orders tightly.

"This is Commander Une. Identify yourself," she commands crisply.

"Identify myself?" the voice repeats. It sounds incredulous.

"Identify yourself or you will be shot down," Une warns.

"You're going to shoot me down?" the unknown pilot repeats. He sounds, if possible, even more incredulous.

I start to shake, and fall into a chair. That voice. It can't be. It's impossible. A swell of hope so strong that it physically hurts courses through my body.

"Identify…"

"Establish video contact, Une," I interrupt harshly. She looks at me, surprised at my tone of voice. My fists are clenched with the effort of trying to control myself.

Wufei and Heero stare at me suspiciously. My eyes meet Quatre's, and I see a dawning hope - and fear - that matches my own in his eyes.

"Pilot, establish video contact," Une orders.

A loud sigh comes from the transmitter. The monitor flickers, and suddenly the picture is there.

We all shout, all at the same time. The words are all different, but the shock, the amazement, the disbelief, the joy are all the same.

It's him.

He looks terrible, awful, half-dead.

But he's _not_ dead.

It's him.

It's Trowa!

He's _alive_!

"This is Gundam Pilot 03, requesting permission to enter the base," he says. His voice is suddenly immeasurably weary.

I can't move, can hardly breathe under the weight of the enormous, crushing sense of mingled relief and bewildered astonishment I'm feeling.

This can't possibly be real.

Trowa is…alive?

Trowa's alive! He's… "Trowa's alive!" I shout, jumping out of my chair suddenly. "My God, he's _alive_! He's here!"

Suddenly we're all shouting, all beaming, slapping each other on the back like we've done something worthy of note. Une is still speaking, giving Trowa landing figures, ordering the cessation of fire and the opening of the base.

I hardly hear her. Trowa is alive. He's come back to me. And whatever has happened, we will never be apart again. I won't lose him again.

____________________________________

I have to get out. I have to see them.

I was so intent on getting to them, on warning them, that I really didn't think of what that would entail.

They'll want to know…They'll ask me…

They can't know. I _can't_ tell them! I _won't_!

I just need to warn them. To tell them that they have to stay away from Barton, that they can't let him take prisoners, that they are personal targets.

They'll ask me how I know. Maybe they'll realize…

I gag, the shame that twists my stomach is so intense.

I force myself to relax, to calm the shudders that rack my body.

They can never know.

I will tell them what they need to know, and then I will leave. They can't see…can't touch me. Especially not that. I can't allow my friends to touch me…not after…

I hope I can pull this off. I have a fever, I know I do. I can't think. I can hardly see straight. I need to do this…then my final mission will be complete.

I open the hatch and step out. I grab the wire, and slowly let myself down, not allowing myself to look below. I know they're there, waiting for me. I can't look at them too closely, can't let myself continue to feel this sense of relief that I have returned to where I am safe. I am a danger to them, in more ways then one.

I hear sounds, voices greeting me, shouts of welcome. I've barely gotten both feet on the ground when a body slams into me. I feel arms go around me, holding me tightly, hands pressing hard against my back. A white flash of pain explodes behind my eyes. I turn the scream of agony into a roar of anger.

"Don't touch me!"

Abruptly, the body is gone, and there is absolute silence surrounding me.

My vision clears, and I can see again. Quatre, Wufei, Une. Heero. They look shocked, bewildered. Duo. He looks stricken. Tears stand in his eyes. I know suddenly that it was he whom I pushed away.

I'm sorry. God, Duo…No. It's better. I couldn't have him touch me, can't even stand the thought of polluting Duo with the essence of Barton still hanging so heavily on me.

"I got the Gundam," I tell them, rather inanely.

"Excellent," Wufei says softly. They're all staring at me. Can they see? Can they tell by looking at me what has happened? "It is Heavyarms, then, as we…"

"It is not Heavyarms!" I half-shout at him. That wary, confused expression rests on all their faces again. "It's crap," I tell them heavily. I can't bear to have them think that this misbegotten creation of Barton's is anything like my Heavyarms. "It's top-heavy. It's awkward. It has no balance. It's slow. It's _crap_. It's _not_ _Heavyarms_." My voice raises steadily throughout my speech and I have to stop myself before I'm screaming.

"Ok," Wufei says neutrally, nodding slowly at me.

"How did you get it? Are there more of them?" Une presses.

I turn my head to look at her, scowling as I try to focus on her. Commander Une, demanding her report. "I took it. I don't know," I reply, answering both her questions as shortly as possible.

"It is Barton, then?" Une demands, continuing to probe.

I have to hold back the hysterical laugh that threatens to erupt. "Yeah," I say flatly. "It's Barton."

"Is he dead?"

‘No." Christ, what the hell does she want from me? I know everyone has an inflated opinion of the abilities of Gundam pilots, but there's only one of me.

"How is he alive in the first place?"

"He said one of Dekim's men pulled him out of the trash heap S had thrown him into," I snap. "Are there any more damned questions I can answer for you?"

"Are you all right?" The question is asked in a small voice. "I was…we were really worried about you, Tro-chan."

The voice is Duo's. I move my gaze to him. He's staring at me with a worried, but hopeful expression on his face. He called me Tro-chan. He was…he was worried about me. I let this thought sink in. He…

Suddenly, Heero moves. He's standing next to Duo, and, at my continued silence, moves a little closer to him, angling his body slightly. It's a very… protective… gesture. I look sharply at him, then back at Duo.

Duo follows my gaze to Heero, then his head snaps back to me, realizing what I'm thinking…the light is his eyes is bright, fervent…guilty.

I stagger slightly, banging my back painfully against the foot of the Gundam. My God. All that time - all that horrible, awful time - he was with Heero. They were… together. They didn't care at all. As soon as I was out of the way, they had each other.

My gaze rakes over them, and they both shift uncomfortably. I'm right. They did.

Barton was right. They don't care about me at all.

 _But you left_ , a voice in my head points out _. And you told them - you told Heero - that that was what you wanted them to do_.

A wash of anger drowns out the reasonable voice. I don't care. They betrayed me. Again. And I hate them.

The reasonable voice laughs mockingly at this obvious lie. Of course I don't hate them - either of them. This wouldn't hurt so much if I did.

But I have to get out, get out now, while the strength of the anger can still carry me out on my own two feet.

My mission. I have to warn them, though, before I go. I can't fail the mission.

"You have to watch out, all of you," I tell them in as flat a tone as I can manage. I'm so tired. "Barton is out for you - each of you - personally. Don't go out in the front of the battle. Do _not_ let him capture you."

"Why not?" Une demands before the others have a chance to reply. I feel an extreme flash of irritation. "What are his plans?"

"He plans…to attack," I reply stupidly. I can't get into his…real plans. I can't say it, can't think of it, can't stand it…I force myself to press down my budding hysteria. "He has White Fang," I tell them.

"White Fang!" Une hisses over everyone else's exclamations of shock. "How do you know? When did they align? What do they…"

If you don't mind, Une, I'll postpone the report until later," I snap. "I need some sleep."

"But what do you know about…"

"I said, I'll tell you _later_! You have your precious Gundam - now leave me the fuck alone!" I shout, stumbling past all of them, refusing to look at any of them, especially at _them_. None of them try to stop me. They're probably too shocked. I don't usually yell. Or maybe…maybe they know, know about Barton, and they're disgusted by me. Maybe they don't _want_ to stop me.

After all, it's rather obvious that none of them need me. Not when they have each other.

I head down a long hall, hoping vaguely that this is the way to my room. I'm so tired…so…I feel myself start to sag, but I don't have the energy to stop myself. I stumble ungracefully to the floor. The floor feels cold…but the rest of me is hot…as hot as the blood I feel flowing from the ruin of my back…

_________________________________________

Something is very wrong.

We four stare at each other in amazed disbelief.

I never thought Trowa would come back. But when I allowed myself to experience that foolish fantasy, I never imagined that it would be like this.

"What's going on?" Une demands. We ignore her. As fine a commander as she is, as trusted a friend as she has become, she has no place in this.

"He knows," Wufei says grimly.

Heero flushes. Duo's lips compress into a thin line.

"There's more than that," I insist, interrupting them before they can begin to fight.

Heero nods. "What the hell was that?" he demands, gesturing at the door that Trowa just practically ran out of. "What happened?"

I shake my head. "I don't know," I admit.

"Did you see his face when he looked at me?" Duo asks suddenly. "Does he really hate me that much?"

I shake my head impatiently. "Something is wrong," I tell them, voicing what they all know.

"Well, no kidding, Quatre!" Duo shouts at me. "But what?" He raises a hand to rub his forehead. Abruptly, he jerks his hand away from his own skin and stares at it, perplexed.

Our eyes follow his gaze. His palm is stained, covered with a reddish liquid that gleams as he turns his hand in confusion.

His palm…when he hugged Trowa…

The same startled gasp breaks from all our throats at the same time, and we all turn and run toward the door, toward Trowa.

If there was enough blood to so cover Duo's hand…after a twenty-four hour journey…

I push ahead of the others, running down the long corridor. The rest of them may be bigger than me, but I'm faster.

I round a corner, and almost trip over the huddled shape collapsed on the floor.

"By Allah!" I shout, dropping to the ground beside him. "Trowa!"

He doesn't reply, doesn't move. I pat his face, gently, then more roughly, shouting his name, trying to push away the panic threatening to overwhelm me. The others cluster thickly around me.

"Trowa!" I call loudly. "Trowa!" I repeat insistently.

A small noise comes from the inert body before me. I shift to a sitting position, then carefully slide my arms under him, lifting his body so that his head rests on my lap.

"Trowa, wake up," I order in a tightly controlled voice.

"Quatre…" he murmurs weakly, his eyelids fluttering open. He tries to look up at me and I see that his eyes are dulled and unfocused.

I move my gaze to the others. "Get a doctor, and a stretcher," I order tersely. "Go!" I half-shout when noone moves to obey. Une jumps as though struck, then turns and pelts down the corridor for help.

"Trowa, it's ok," I tell him softly. I gently touch him, very lightly lay my hand on his back.

He jumps as though I'd burned him. "Don't!" he shouts, and the despair in his voice is heartbreaking. "God, Quatre, _don't_."

I murmur apologies, sparing a glance at my hand. It's covered with his blood. His entire shirt is saturated with it.

"Quatre, listen…my mission…" he whispers weakly.

"You fulfilled your mission, Trowa," I assure him, and my voice breaks slightly. "You _did,_ Trowa. You didn't let us down."

"No," he insists feebly. "Listen. Barton…he'll…you _can't_ be captured, Quatre. Promise me."

"Don't worry about me, Trowa. Worry about yourself. We're getting a doctor, and he'll take care of…"

"No!" He struggles weakly, but he can hardly move. It seems that all his strength has been used up. I can't imagine what kind of injuries he's suffered, but it's amazing that he was able to move, much less pilot the Gundam here.

"You have to listen," he repeats desperately. "Promise me, Quatre. Stay away from him…and don't let him…he wants to…just…just protect Wufei. And Heero. And _Duo_ … _please_ , Quatre…"

"Trowa…" I whisper. What must he have suffered to be so afraid for us?

" _Promise_ me," he insists.

"All right, Trowa, I…"

"No," says Wufei harshly. The others have been silent, frozen. This is unfamiliar territory - usually we're unconscious or we're fine. Or if we're not fine, we're insisting we are and pushing on ahead. But Trowa just can't push anymore, and none of us really knows how to deal with it.

"No, Trowa. I will not be protected. I will go and fight Barton alone, if you are gone."

"Gone?" I whisper. Heero's frown echoes my confusion.

Wufei waves a hand. "He's fulfilling his mission," he explains in a low voice. "Then nothing will be here to hold him. He won't fight any more."

"Don't you dare!" Duo bursts out suddenly. He worms between me and Wufei, crouching down so that his face is on a level with Trowa's. "Don't you _dare_ leave me again, Trowa!"

Trowa squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head feebly. "Don't, Duo…" he manages.

"Trowa, listen to me please. You have to believe me, have to understand that I…"

"Promise me, Quatre!" Trowa interrupts, opening his eyes again and staring at me.

Slowly, determinedly, I shake my head. I will not give Trowa leave to die.

Despair floods his green eyes, and his head slumps. The others cry out in alarm, but I quickly find the sluggish, thready pulse in his neck. Trowa is only unconscious - for now.

_____________________________________________

Duo cries out in dread, surging forward, grasping Trowa's limp arm.

"It's all right, Duo," Quatre says quickly, his gentle fingers resting on Trowa's neck. "He's alive. Unconscious, but alive."

"What the hell…" Duo's voice breaks, but he clears his throat and continues. "What the hell _happened_ to him, Quatre?"

A sudden surge of anger sweeps through my body. I know what…or who… happened to Trowa. And when I get my hands on him…

"Barton," Wufei breaks in harshly before Quatre can reply, and my gaze jerks away from Trowa's battered form to Wufei's face. His black eyes flash dangerously, and he is practically trembling with the force of his barely suppressed rage. My own fists are clenched tight in an attempt to control the same fury that is threatening to overwhelm me. We stare at each other for a long moment, perfectly in accord for the first time in many weeks.

Our tense tableau is broken up at that point by the return of Une and her medical team. Two of them tear Trowa away from us, and carefully lift him onto a wheeled bed. Quatre directs them quietly but firmly, informing them of his injured back, ensuring that all care is taken to prevent the jarring of any presently unknown injuries.

I am hardly aware of our progression to the med bay. We all form a rather macabre little procession - the doctor in the lead, his team pushing the bed containing Trowa's unconscious body, the four of us clustered behind it, Une confusedly bringing up the rear.

I hear the doctors conversing in hard, rapid tones, hear Quatre and Duo firing questions at them, am aware of Une demanding answers from anyone willing to answer her. But I don't process any of the words, don't answer any of the demands. The voices are all overwhelmed by a rushing in my ears, the sound of my own pounding heart, each beat pushing wave after wave of rage through my entire body.

I jump as a hand comes down hard on my shoulder. I look up, snarling, to see Wufei staring at me. His eyes are calmer now, a faint glitter buried deep in the black depths the only remaining clue of his anger.

"Later," he says flatly, and his voice throbs with the promise of revenge, of retaliation, of horrible vengeance. "We must care for Trowa now."

I nod sharply. He's right. I can't allow anger to take the upper hand now. Now, we have to ensure that our friend is saved. Later, we seek out his tormentor and deliver our reprisals.

I take a deep breath, forcing my heart beat to slow, forcing the anger and adrenaline from my veins. We've reached our destination, and the doctor is barking out orders. Underlings scurry to ready trays of instruments, wheel machines over to the side of Trowa's bed, angle bright lights on his still form.

"You all have to get out," the doctor informs us brusquely. "There are too many people in here."

"Fuck off," Duo replies evenly. "I'm not leaving."

The doctor looks at him and scowls briefly before returning his concentration to Trowa. "You're in the way," he says flatly.

Duo backs up several steps, and defiantly crosses his arms across his chest.

Issuing a brief order to his assistant, the doctor sighs and looks at all of us. "I'm Dr. Rushton," he says, his voice calmer. "I want to help your friend. I have to examine him, and I may have to operate," he tells us in a serious tone. "I don't know what's wrong yet. Having this many people here may open him up to infection, depending on his injuries. Besides," he continues, gesturing toward his assistant, who is presently carefully cutting apart the material of Trowa's pants in order to remove them, "do you think he would want you all to be here watching this?" He pauses for a moment, letting his meaning sink in. "Leave him some dignity."

We're all silent for a moment. Une is the first to move. She nods sharply at the doctor. "I will be right outside," she warns him. "See that he recovers." She turns abruptly, and leaves.

Quatre touches Wufei lightly on the arm. The Chinese boy looks into his lover's aqua eyes for a long moment. After a silent struggle, he sighs deeply. He stares hard at the doctor for a moment in undisguised warning, then he too leaves the room.

Turning to Duo, Quatre tries again. "Duo, come on," he begins. "The doctor will tell us when…"

"No," Duo interrupts harshly. He looks at the doctor. "Doc, I hear what you're saying," he acknowledges in a tight voice. "But I'm staying. I'm not leaving him alone."

"Me either," I add. Quatre turns in surprise, and I shake my head at him. "Two of us won't be in the way," I assure the doctor. "We have to stay with him."

Quatre moves next to me. "Heero," he asks softly. "Who are you staying for?"

I stare at him for a moment, confused by his question. He lifts a golden brow at me, and suddenly I understand. With understanding, comes the desire to punch him in the head. What a question! Have Duo and I really behaved that badly over the past weeks?

"Trowa," I say firmly. "I am staying for _Trowa_." I won't abandon him again.

Quatre stares at me for another moment. Finally, he nods once, and leaves the room.

The doctor shakes his head, acknowledging defeat. "You two, go stand there," he orders, gesturing towards the corner. "Don't move, or you're out."

Duo nods, and we move together toward the corner. I'm aware of his pain, of his frustrated helplessness. But there's nothing I can do now, no way I can help him. Now, there is only Trowa.

"Doctor." One of the nurses has cut Trowa's shirt up both sides and removed the sleeves, and is presently trying to remove the rest of it to get a look at his injured back. "Doctor, we can't get it off."

The doctor pushes her aside, and begins to work at the material himself. "Good God," he mutters under his breath.

"What's the matter?" Duo demands.

The doctor growls under his breath but doesn't reply. The nurse turns to us. "The cloth of the shirt and the material beneath it are sticking to his back," she tells us, and her voice is worried. "We can't get it off without tearing it. We don't know what kind of injuries are beneath it, so we don't know what kind of damage that will do."

Throughout her speech, the doctor is carefully working at the material, trying to pull it away. A faint moan comes from Trowa.

"Get the damned anesthesia into him," Dr. Rushton snarls at another of the white-garbed figures. "The last thing we need is for him to wake up."

The doctor works at the shirt for several minutes, alternately tugging gently at the material and saturating it with water to loosen it, and I chafe under the delay. Every mutter from the doctor, every whispered suggestion of one of the nurses, every new needle and tube they shove into Trowa's unprotected arm makes me cringe.

Finally, the doctor manages to work most of the shirt loose, and carefully peels it away. An exclamation of dismay is wrung from his lips as he stares at the now-exposed flesh. Two of the nurses turn away.

"What is it?" Duo demands, pushing forward.

The doctor falls back, and we get our first glimpse of Trowa's back.

It doesn't resemble any part of a human being. I see no spared skin - just raw, bloody flesh. Some areas are black with dry, caked blood, others are still oozing the red fluid. Some places glow an angry red, and I recognize the signs of infection. There are horribly exposed areas of pink and purple that I assume are uncovered muscle. Long gashes obviously made by some sort of whip overlay each other, too random to be any sort of pattern. It looks as though he's been flayed.

I hear a choking sound, and I turn my head. Duo is staring at Trowa in open-mouthed horror, tears standing in his violet eyes.

"His back…" he whispers.

"I've never seen anything like this," the doctor admits hoarsely, forgetting to reprove us for leaving our corner.

Duo turns to him. "He's had injuries on his back before," he tells the doctor. "He had…scars. Lots of scars, covering his whole back."

The doctor narrows his eyes and stares at him. "How did he get them?" he asks.

Duo shakes his head. "I…I don't know," he admits. "Some of them….I'm sure some of them he got from the same person who did this."

The doctor nods slowly. "Ok," he says after a moment. "We have to get going. You two, back in the corner," he orders, jerking his head to indicate where he wants us to be.

I never again want to live through another experience like this one. The doctor carefully cleans Trowa's injuries. The pain seeps through to Trowa despite his unconsciousness and the drugs, and he cries out piteously under the careful ministrations. The muttered comments and instructions from the doctor and his team burn themselves on my brain, and I shudder with every one of their movements, feeling the pain Trowa is suffering.

"Some of these were inflicted some time ago. There's just new ones on top…"

"…indications of scar tissue. Broken up by the new injuries…"

"…definite infection. Look at the swelling…"

"…fever of 105 degrees, doctor. There's danger of brain damage if it continues at this level…"

"…going to stitch it up?"

"I can't. There's nothing left to stitch it _to_."

"…through the muscle. Will it retain functionality?"

"It should. We have to watch these infections. This should heal, if the infections don't spread."

"…going to do if we can't stitch it?"

"…bandage the whole thing. Coat the bandages…change them every hour…"

Duo is very still beside me. Neither of us speak. We stare at the doctor, and the helpless form under his hands.

"…look for other injuries."

"…fracture of the sixth rib…"

"…lacerations around the wrists and ankles…some kind of restraint…"

"…more lacerations on the elbows…bruises on the hips and thighs…indications of possible…"

"…yes, that's definite…multiple tearings of the anus and the rectal passage… nurse, get a rape kit..."

What?! I sway, feeling like I've just been struck a physical blow. Trowa was…no, that's not possible. Even OZ would never…

There's a small sound beside me, and I turn to look at Duo. His eyes are squeezed tightly shut, but tears escape and flow down his cheeks.

"Duo," I whisper hoarsely. Duo needs to explain this. I must be wrong, must have misinterpreted what I heard…

Duo's eyes open, and he stares at me. I see the truth in his eyes. I'm not wrong. My God. We stare at each other in mute horror. My stomach twists with shame and self-loathing. I let Trowa suffer that, and I didn't even try to rescue him? I had no idea…and all the while I was with Duo.

After many, many more agonizing minutes, it's finally over. Trowa's injuries are all tended. His back in covered in a mass of white bandages. A clean sheet is pulled over him to his waist. Several tubes drip various liquids into his veins - two, the doctor explains, are medicines, one is nutrients to help rebuild his wasted body, the fourth is blood to replace some of what he has lost.

Dr. Rushton looks exhausted, and sick. "He has a good chance of recovering," he assures us as he wearily pulls off his gloves. "That back is a mess, but it's all regenerative tissue. It's amazing that he was able to walk, much less get back here. That's encouraging, though - he seems to have a very strong constitution, and that should recover that much more quickly."

We stare at him mutely. I can't begin to think of anything to say.

The doctor sighs. "I'm going to keep him sedated for several days," he tells us. "What he needs more than anything else is rest. It will help him heal physically, and…" he hesitates. "Well, I think he needs the mental respite as well. I'm sorry to tell you that your friend was…"

"We heard," Duo interrupts harshly. I feel a cowardly relief. I didn't want to hear him say it. "You're sure?"

The doctor nods. "I'm sorry," he says simply.

"Thank you for taking care of him," Duo says suddenly. "You're…you're sure he'll be ok?"

"There's still the danger of infection," the doctor hedges. "But, there's a good chance that he will recover."

"Can we stay?" Duo asks.

Dr. Rushton shrugs. "I don't think I could stop you," he acknowledges wryly. "But he's not going to wake up for quite some time. You might want to get some rest yourselves."

"We'll stay," I answer for both of us.

The doctor nods. "I'll go speak to the rest of your friends," he says quietly, and leaves the room.

The rest of the medical personnel fluttering around finally complete their tasks, and they're gone too.

Duo and I pull two chairs up to either side of Trowa's bed, and seat ourselves. We haven't spoken to each other yet.

A monitor above Trowa's bed traces the rhythms of his heart and brain, and I stare at the reassuring patterns.

Trowa is alive.

The doctor said he'll recover. Physically.

"I knew this would happen to him," Duo says suddenly.

I look up, startled.

"As soon as I heard that we were dealing with Barton, I knew," he continued.

"Did he…" I stop. "This happened…before?"

Duo shrugs. "Trowa never told me outright," he admits. His face twists in disgust, and I realize that that disgust is directed toward himself. "And I never asked him. But he had nightmares…about Barton…and he would say things in his sleep…" His voice trails off to nothing. "I knew," he continues finally. "And I didn't do anything."

"There was nothing to do," I remind him.

Duo emits a short, humorless laugh. "Yeah," he agrees ironically.

I don't reply. There's nothing to say. We sit and stare at Trowa's motionless form, the only sound in the room the regular, faint beep that reassures us that Trowa's heart is still beating.

I stare at Trowa. I feel helpless. I don't know how I can possible make things better for him. I don't know what to do. And I am damned sick of not knowing what to do.

I watch the faint rise and fall of Trowa's thin shoulders. Duo is resting his forehead on the edge of Trowa's bed, and I gaze at the thick mass of chestnut hair flowing down his back. I feel a surge of unaccustomed feeling. I don't want them hurt anymore - either of them. They have hurt enough. Neither of them deserves it. I clench my fists determinedly. Noone will hurt them again. I will see to that myself.

The first order of business - destroy Barton.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> by Shoori

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from Dacia, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [A Little Piece of Gundam Wing](https://fanlore.org/wiki/A_Little_Piece_Of_Gundam_Wing), which closed in 2017. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after July 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [a little piece of gundam wing collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/alittlepieceofgundamwing/profile).

I drum my fingers impatiently on the table, waiting for the others to get here. It seems that I spend most of my time waiting for other people to arrive at wherever they're supposed to be. I've gotten used to waiting for Maxwell and Yuy, but this time even Quatre is missing. It irritates me.

Actually, I'm already irritated. I don't see why we need to have another of these interminable meetings before we leave, but Une insists. She claims that we have to be certain that we have covered the logistics of all phases of the operation before we embark

We're going to XV7889. We will refuel there, and use that place as a base to commence the attack on XV7870. All of our suits will be able to make it at least as XV7889, and we are going to evacuate the civilians and send them back to this base in our carrier.

We plan to wait until the carrier has returned to actually attack XV7870, but it's not imperative. If Barton wants to attack first, we'll be more than ready to meet him.

Truthfully, all the logistical problems have been solved much more easily than I expected. We can't be sure, but it seems likely that Trowa did at least some damage on his way out, and he did deprive Barton of the Gundam, which both work to better our strategical position considerably.

I don't expect the battle to take long. Quatre has planned our strategy. We will surround the colony. We will destroy the forces that attempt to protect it. We will isolate Barton and we will kill him. It all seems pretty straightforward to me.

I suppose I can't really argue with Une's desire to make a thorough check of everything, though. We have all been rather preoccupied for the last three days.

The last three days. Three days since Trowa unaccountably, miraculously appeared at the base. Three days since we discovered exactly what his ploy to buy the world time had cost him. Three days since I discovered what it is to hate.

I should say rediscovered, probably. For I have hated before.

I hated Treize Kushrenada.

I hated him. But…

Treize manipulated the emotions and desires of a fifteen-year-old boy to appease his own desires, his own needs for satisfaction and for power and control over those close to him. It took me many years to realize that he was himself a prisoner of those desires, that those hungers were so deep and so uncontrollable, despite his veneer of sophisticated authority, that had he lived, they would ultimately have destroyed him from within. The worst part is that he knew it, hence his efforts to find for himself a great and glorious way to die young, before he was devoured by his own cravings.

I thought at one time that what I had done with Treize, or what he had done to me, was the most shameful of all things. I believed myself weak, and unworthy, for having experienced it.

He was my enemy, and I was his. Yet I went to his bed. Unwillingly, at first. Despite my opposition, though, and to my great shame, my body responded to him, overcoming my will to defy him. In time, I came when he called, fighting no more, obeying his summons despite my overwhelming wish to refuse.

The sheer carnality of our - relationship? Association? Mutual vendetta? - was something that I was completely unprepared for. I could no more resist it than I could accept it. And so the more I struggled the more surely I was caught in the snare, and the more I hated Treize.

And the more I loved him.

I loved him because I hated him, hated him because I loved him. And the knowledge that I loved him, despite everything, shamed me even more than what we did together. But Treize…Treize was in some ways a pitiable figure. He loved me. And so he sought to bind me to him in the only way he knew how. He believed that if I could not resist him sexually, I would need him in every way. So he learned to know my body better than I did, brought me pleasure that I could not refuse. And so I hated him. But I sensed his need, and loved him.

However, I will never forgive him. I will never forgive him for taking me the way he did. For _using_ me the way he did. For making me hate him, making me love him…making me kill him.

He did that on purpose. He needed to ensure himself the noble death that he yearned to die. And he needed to die at my hands. He needed to be killed by a Gundam pilot - the last victim of a force that came into existence because of him. He needed to atone for all that he had done to me, to show me his love. And he needed me to kill him so that he could be sure that he would own me forever. He knew that my feelings for him were as twisted and unclear as were his for me. He knew that I had wished him dead many times. And he believed that my killing him would ensure that somehow, he would always be with me.

In a way, he was right. He will always be a part of me. But I remember him to remind myself that, usually, those who seem the most evil are striking out at others only to hide from who they are themselves. Treize knew and despised the sickness in himself, sought to hide it in fancy manners and showy clothes and flowery fragrances, but ultimately he couldn't escape it.

I suppose that it was fitting that I, who knew the evil that was inside him, was the one to destroy it. He even thanked me for it, called me his friend as he died. I had saved him. I gave him his noble and glorious death.

He didn't destroy me. He could have. He almost did. I spent years running from him, and from myself. I eventually found my way to Quatre, who helped me to see Treize for what he was and helped me to rediscover myself. I don't particularly like the vision of myself as a hapless pawn in the hands of a twisted man, but it's better than what I believed before - that I was as twisted as he, and had invited and encouraged that treatment.

Slowly, I am coming to accept what happened all those years ago. I am coming to a point where I can find peace with the past.

But I can't imagine what would happen if that past were suddenly to reappear before me. I don't know how I would bear it if Treize were suddenly alive again, calling me again, wrapping me again in that prison that I believed I had escaped.

That's what happened to Trowa. And worse. Treize never felt the need to inflict physical harm on anyone - he sought to control through the emotions. In his own bizarre way he loved me, and everything he did was a test to see if I could return that emotion despite his machinations. He tried to offer love, but went about it in a way which perverted that emotion into something horrible.

Barton, though, felt no such conflicted emotions for Trowa. From what I can surmise, at one point in the past he used Trowa as a toy, an object to appease his need to hurt and destroy. Treize's evil was born of a need for love. Barton's evil, though, is intrinsic to him. He needs to hurt people. He gains his pleasure from the pain of others, and many years ago, when Trowa was a defenseless boy, Barton gained pleasure from his pain. And then he came back from the dead, when Trowa believed that he was finally free, and he did it again.

I feel the rage that I've been trying to contain for the past three days explode in me again. He did it again. He made Trowa into an object, a plaything to use, damage and destroy according to his whim. He beat him, he raped him, he tried to break his spirit and mind - just as he had tried to do years ago.

And Trowa knew - he _knew_ \- what would happen if he allowed himself to fall into Barton's hands again. But he let it happen anyway. He let it to happen to save us. Then he allowed himself to be tortured, and wouldn't let himself die, to save us. He defied death and endured what must have been an excruciatingly painful journey, to save us.

And what have we done for him?

I close my eyes, trying to keep myself from completing the thought, but it's there anyway. We let him suffer.

I despise my own weakness, that I didn't go stop his torment.

It was fear that kept me from doing so.

Not fear that I would be injured. If my own safety were the only issue, nothing could have stopped me from going to rescue him.

But I feared that any move on my part would definitely lead his captors to execute him. I was afraid that my interference would certainly mean his death. I didn't want to lose the hope that maybe he would someday come back. And I didn't want his death on my hands.

So, to keep my conscience clean, to keep alive my hopes that he might return to us, I let him live, let him be hurt and tortured, let him suffer.

I let it happen, because I wasn't strong enough to face the idea of again killing someone I loved.

But I will atone, Trowa. I will not let the one who hurt you go unpunished.

This time, his death will last forever.

I promise.

The door bangs open suddenly, and the others all filter through into the room. Startled out of my reverie, I'm unable to mask the rage that I feel. I stare at them, the anger and helplessness and the burning need for revenge that's churning inside me clearly visible on my face.

But I see no surprise, or disgust or recrimination. I see my feelings reflected.

Quatre's aqua eyes - usually so loving, so expressive - are cold, promising as they meet mine that he will willingly help me rain consequence down upon the one who has dared to so injure Trowa.

Heero's eyes burn with anger - as I stare into them I feel the fire of my own rage grow hotter, fueled by the flames of his. He will not rest until Barton has felt pain equal to and surpassing that which he has caused our teammate.

Duo…I actually feel myself shudder. I stare into Duo's violet eyes, and Death stares back at me. During the war he called himself Shinigami, but I always thought of it as an affectation, or as a brand by which he frightened his enemies. Now though…Now I see. Quatre and Heero and I will bring Barton suffering and consequence and pain. But Duo…Duo will be his death.

I feel a surge of satisfaction. _That_ is justice.

______________________________________________

I ease the door open carefully, and move silently through the dimly lit room to the side of the bed. I stop, glancing up at the monitors hanging from the ceiling. They beep faintly, and the sound and the steady green patterns assure me that Trowa's still alive, that he's breathing, that he's safe.

I lower myself into the chair by his bed. I've spent a lot of time in this chair over the past few days, just staring at him, willing him to hang on, keep fighting, stay alive.

And now I'm going to leave him alone.

I wince at the guilt that thought provokes. I have to go. We need to defeat Barton, to be sure that his evil is not polluting the world any more.

I feel my mouth twist in a wry grimace. Ok, so I'm not really that concerned about protecting the world from Barton. I just want to kill him. He deserves to be dead, and I'm going to make sure he gets what he deserves.

So I have to leave. We have to go, have to do this before Trowa wakes up. He'd try to come too, I know he would. He'd try to help, and he'd get killed.

I just got him back. I couldn't stand it if I lost him again.

I stand up and lean over him, gently brushing his hair off his cheek. He's lying on his stomach, of course, so I can only see one side of his face. He's still so pale, so gaunt. He looks so defenseless.

It makes me a little nervous, actually. Trowa's always been so strong, so capable, so collected. Seeing him like this is messing with my view of the universe. I don't like it.

At the same time, it makes me feel…protective. Noone will hurt this fragility again, if I have anything to say about it.

I run my fingers through his hair as I bend down and lightly kiss his cheek. "I love you, Trowa," I whisper. "I'll be back soon."

He doesn't move, doesn't stir. He doesn't hear me.

I sigh, and straighten up. I can't delay any longer. The army is taking off _now_.

I hear a faint sound from the door of the room, and whirl to see the doctor that took care of Trowa - Rushton? - standing in the open doorway.

I relax, even managing a faint smile.

"He's doing well, Mr. Maxwell," the doctor tells me, sensing my worry and not wasting time on pleasantries.

"Duo," I correct. "How much longer will he be unconscious?" I ask. I wish he was awake, though I know that it's good he isn't. I want to see his eyes, assure myself that he's still inside that body that lays so limply and so still in this sterile hospital bed.

The doctor shrugs. "We can't keep him out too much longer," he explains. "It wouldn't be good for him. We'll start decreasing the drugs soon, and wait for him to wake on his own."

I nod. "Can you wait five days?" I ask.

He frowns. "Why five days?"

"That's when the last relay will have left for XV7889. I don't want him awake before all of the transports have left from this base."

The doctor raises a faint brow at me. I chuckle.

"You've never seen him awake, doc, but you're going to have a bear on your hands. He's going to be pissed off that we went without him. You'll have a hard time keeping him in bed, and if there were still transports taking off, he'd get on one."

"Mr. Max…Duo…I knew I said he was doing well, but he's not going to be in any shape to be fighting battles…"

"I know," I interrupt. "But try telling him that."

The doctor stares at me for a minute, then nods. "I'll make sure he doesn't wake up until the last transport is gone."

"Thanks," I say sincerely, smiling at the doctor. I reach into my pocket and pull out an envelope, which I hand to the other man. "After he wakes up and has his temper tantrum, can you give him this?"

Dr. Rushton takes the envelope. "I will," he promises.

I nod my thanks, and turn back to the bed for a moment. I reach down, and run one finger along Trowa's cheek _. "I'll be back soon_ ," I promise silently.

I turn and walk purposefully away from the bed, moving to pass the doctor. He reaches out and grabs my arm.

"Be careful," he says meaningfully. "I don't want to be patching you up like him."

I smile, but this time the expression isn't pleasant. "Don't waste your worry on me, doc," I advise. "Save it for the guy I'm going after."

Barton.

I hope you're ready.

I'm coming for you.

______________________________________________

"Squadron leaders, report."

Une's voice crackles through my headset.

I flick on the video feed.

"Pilot 01, reporting." I say crisply.

"05, here." Wufei's face flashes across the vid.

"04, reporting." Quatre's face appears briefly, his features determined.

"02, ready for battle!" Duo crows, his eyes gleaming maniacally from the screen. "Make way for Shinigami!"

God, I'd forgotten how much that irritated me in the middle of a battle.

"Squadrons one and five, open fire on the colony!"

I press a button, pull a lever, and feel the suit around me come to life, swooping down toward the colony where our target waits.

I've activated the 360 radar, and various images flash across various screens. My squadron forms a sweeping line to either side of me as we approach the colony from the east. I see Wufei's line approach from the opposite direction. I feel a familiar calm detachment radiate through me. A blankness fills my mind, and all that's left are the sensory images surrounding me, the images of battle.

I am a soldier again.

Une's voice resounds through my cockpit.

"Fire!"

We all release our weapons at the same time. The colony seems to vibrate, the shield buckling under the concentrated onslaught.

"Again!"

Again, we fire. Small fissures open in the shield.

Suddenly, the lock begins to peel away, and a line of suits pour forth from the colony.

"Squadron five! Eliminate the suits as they surface. Squadron one! Pull back!"

I yank backwards, feeling the suit rise away from the colony. I see Wufei move forward, surrounded by several of his men, and pick the suits off one by one as they emerge.

Maybe this won't take long after all.

Suddenly, my suit is rocked from the force of an explosion beneath me. I feel the suit somersault backwards, and fight to regain control of it.

"Squadron one! Squadron one! Pull away!"

I stabilize my suit, and flick a switch, concentrating radar detail on the area the explosion came from. Suddenly, the sky there is full of enemy ships, and flaming bits of wreckage mark the demise of several of my squadron members.

There's a huge hole in the side of the colony. Barton blew out his own shield. He focused our attention on the men coming out of the lock, then shot his way out directly beneath us. He used his own men as a decoy.

I feel my eyes narrow, as I make a slow sweep of the situation beneath me.

"Squadron two! Back up squadron one!"

I target a line of suits still appearing from the fractured shield. I sweep down, moving directly in front of them, firing the guns as I approach each. Six down.

"Jesus Christ, Heero, what the fuck are you doing?"

Duo's face flickers onto the screen. He looks furious.

"Six down," I reply calmly. "I'm going down for another sweep."

"Heero, you're in a fucking Taurus, remember?" he demands angrily. "Let me do the up-close and personal stuff, ok?"

When we'd left the base, Duo had calmly climbed up into the cockpit of the Gundam, strapped himself in, and asked for take-off coordinates. Noone had really wanted to argue with him about it. He's the best pilot anyway. He flew the machine to XV7889, declared that Trowa had been absolutely correct in deeming it crap, and spent three days straight fixing it, while the rest of our troops were relayed from the base. I have the decided feeling that it isn't that crappy any more.

And he's right. He can withstand a lot more fire in the Gundam than I can in a Taurus.

"Affirmative," I say reluctantly.

"Squadron four! To the east!"

I hear Wufei swearing steadily in Chinese. I see flames and smoke rising over the dome of the colony. I guess they breached the shield over there in the same way they did over here.

"You should have surrendered when you had the option!" Quatre's voice roars, and I see the light of more explosions.

I briefly consider reminding him that we hadn't offered them the option, but I'm concentrating on the suits that are hurtling toward me, intent on my destruction.

Soon, it seems that the suits have all come from out the colony, and the battle is pitched. There are hundreds - maybe thousands - of suits. I had no idea Barton had managed to gather such a force.

Quatre's squadron has worked their opponents westward, and I can see the entire battle commencing on my radar.

Wufei cuts broad swathes through enemy troops - concentrating on first one area, then another, his pattern seemingly random.

Quatre swoops through the sky, and I can tell that he's employing several different strategies at once. He eliminates several suits, lingers in position exactly long enough for an enemy to target him, then hurtles suddenly away, leaving behind him another enemy suit to take the fire intended for him. He's getting the enemy to kill each other.

Duo moves wildly from one place to another, first opening fire with one of the suit's huge guns, then sending a missile into a cluster of enemy suits, then almost negligently sliding the huge knife through some hapless fighter who happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. His laughter echoes through the comm, and he critiques and criticizes enemy technique, offering them facetious pointers as he shoots them out of the sky.

I'm almost mechanically eliminating suits as they approach me. I'm alert for one thing.

Barton.

He's got to be here somewhere.

I register the barest flicker of movement in the screen monitoring the sky behind me, and barely manage to pull myself up and away in time. A blast from an enemy suit glances off the foot of my Taurus, pushing me off course and shaking me violently.

"Damn!" I shout. "I'm hit!"

"Are you operable?" Quatre demands.

I run a quick diagnostic. "95% capabilities," I report. "Good enough."

I scour the screens, trying to identify the suit that hit me. As my gaze moves over the battle, I zero in on Wufei.

"05! Behind you!" I shout.

His Taurus moves away just in time, as a suit fires on him from behind.

Eyes narrowed, I put a track on that suit, in time to see him hurtle toward Quatre.

"04! He's on you," I yell curtly. "I think we have our man."

"Barton!" Duo's voice echoes weirdly - he must be overwhelming all the radio lines, trying to get Barton's.

"Barton! Still hiding? Too afraid to face the God of Death?"

I rapidly scan through all the signal channels, trying to pick up on the frequency the enemy is using. Suddenly, a strange face appears on my screen. I stare intently at it as I fend off the suits attempting to surround me.

It's a rugged face, the features boldly and harshly excised. The mouth is heavy, and, right now, sneering with contempt.

"The God of Death?" he repeats scornfully. "That might scare new recruits, but it'll take more than that to impress me."

"Really," Duo says tightly. "How's this?"

And suddenly, he's on top of Barton. He grabs the suit and shakes it, then uses one finger of the giant Gundam to flick him off into space.

I hear a snort of laughter. Oh, how nice. Wufei is amused.

"Don't play with him, Duo, just kill him," I snarl.

"Oh no," Duo breathes. "Playing with him is going to be the fun part."

"I see. Not exactly sporting odds, is it?" Barton's face appears on the screen again. Now he looks angry. "You have my Gundam, I have a Taurus."

"I thought you liked odds like that," Duo purrs. "You like one person in the position of power, one helpless to fight back. Oh! I see!" Duo slaps a few approaching suits out of his way. They collide with one another and explode. "You like to be the one with the unfair advantage. Isn't so great to be the one at the other end of the stick, is it?"

"You must be Maxwell." Now the voice is amused. "I get it. You're avenging Nanashi. Isn't that sweet." Barton's suit twists to the side, and he eliminates two of our fighters.

"Une!" I bark. "Keep our suits away from him! It's Barton!"

"Kill him!" she orders crisply.

"Tell Duo," I grind out.

"You know, Maxwell, we really have a great deal in common," Barton continues. His voice is oily and suggestive. "We should compare notes. I like to take him from behind best - he's so tight and…"

The roar of rage that bursts from my lips joins three others. I see the Gundam charge toward Barton. I cry out again as it crashes into a line of enemy suits that suddenly appear in front of Barton. It rebounds off of them, undamaged by the force of the collision that has caused most of them to explode.

"Une! Get their damn frequency!" I shout. "He's not using the one he's talking to us on. He's trying to distract us again!"

"We don't need it," she snaps back, and her voice is irritated. "If you'd all start paying attention, you'd see that we're winning. Take Barton out, and the battle is done."

She's right. There's far fewer enemy suits than there were just a few minutes ago, and our troops are aggressively removing more and more of them.

"Good job, Barton," Duo says, and I yank my concentration back to that particular battle. "I forgot how willing you are to sacrifice your own troops."

"There's more where they came from," Barton replies, his voice heavy with warning.

Duo laughs contemptuously. "Bullshit," he says clearly. "This is all you've got, isn't it Barton? Without your Gundam, and all those other ships you lost, you're fucked. It's over, man. Might as well give up."

"Give up?" he repeats incredulously. "You think I'm going to surrender to you? You're crazier than I thought!"

"Remember that you were given the chance to surrender!" Quatre shouts from behind Barton. "It is not our fault that you chose not to accept our generosity!"

He fires, and the shot hits Barton where the arm of his suit connects to the body. His image fizzles out as the comm equipment explodes, but the suit itself remains mostly intact. As it starts to fall downward, Duo reaches out with the huge arm of the Gundam and guides it toward one of the holes in the shield.

"Good shot, Q-man," Duo says tightly. "I'll take it from here."

"I'm going with you," Quatre says determinedly.

What? Where the hell do they think they're going?

"No. I'll finish him myself," Duo insists. I press a button, and his face appears on one screen, Quatre's on another. They both wear identical expressions of stubborn determination.

"I'm helping. It's my right," Quatre insists.

Duo's eyes narrow. "How do you figure?" he demands.

"I have loved him too," Quatre says simply.

There's no doubt as to who the ‘him' is.

"Commander, 04 and I are going to the colony," Duo says abruptly. "We'll be up soon."

I feel myself scowl as I target and blow up a small string of Barton's troops.

"Negative, 02," Une replies emphatically. "Repeat, do _not_ penetrate the colony shield."

"Wait just a minute, here." Wufei's voice breaks through. "What are you doing?"

"What do you think?" Duo demands impatiently. "We're going after Barton."

"Quatre shot him down," Wufei protests. "He's dead."

Even Wufei sounds unconvinced at this argument.

"Wrap this battle up, boys," Duo says firmly. "We'll be back."

"Wait," I order harshly. "I'm going too."

"Me too," Wufei adds, abruptly giving up the attempt to convince us - and himself - that Barton is dead.

"No," Quatre says firmly.

"Why…" Wufei begins hotly.

"It is our duty - and our right," Quatre says, more softly this time.

Now I feel indignant. Quatre may have ‘loved' Trowa in the past, but I…well, I…I hope that….soon…he'll…I'll…

I spend too much time waffling over words, trying to put my startling self-discovery into place. Duo and Quatre move through the hole into the colony, and disappear beneath the cloud of smoke and escaping atmosphere, ignoring Une's shouted orders to remain.

I swear under my breath and click off everything but exterior radar. Time to get this skirmish finished.

Duo and Quatre will finish the other, more important, battle alone.

I hope they make him bleed.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> by Shoori

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from Dacia, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [A Little Piece of Gundam Wing](https://fanlore.org/wiki/A_Little_Piece_Of_Gundam_Wing), which closed in 2017. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after July 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [a little piece of gundam wing collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/alittlepieceofgundamwing/profile).

I feel like I'm rising up out of a long, dark cavern…

I'm getting higher and higher…almost there…

I'm aware of sound first…a faint beeping noise, the rustle of cloth…

Then feeling returns. I feel something soft under my cheek, and I rub my face against it…

That small movement jars something, though, and now…now I feel a dull ache, a throbbing in my back, growing greater and greater…

The pain is even more prevalent now. It stings. I flex the muscles of my shoulders. Something is covering my back, something bulky and rather heavy…

"So, you're awake?"

The voice startles me, badly, and I whirl in the - bed? - opening my eyes and forcing myself into a sitting position, ignoring the searing pain that sweeps through my back and mustering what feeble resistance I can against this unknown foe.

The room is dimly lit. I am in a bed. The only person in the room is a man I have never seen before, standing with his arms crossed at the foot of my bed.

The man is wearing a long white coat. I'm in a bed, there's wires coming out of my arm, the beeping sounds are coming from monitors positioned above the bed. It doesn't take too much logic to figure out that I'm in some kind of hospital, and the man is a doctor.

Right now he's frowning at me. "That must have hurt," he comments wryly.

I scowl at him for a moment before I realize that he's talking about my sudden movement when I heard his voice. It did hurt, but I'll be damned if I tell him about it.

"Who are you? Where am I?" I demand. I have hazy memories of being shot at, of…of….I scowl more deeply as more memories flood my mind. Quatre and Wufei refusing to let me die. And…Duo and Heero. I scowl again, more deeply. Are these memories real? Did that happen, or has my mind created these memories to torture me?

"You're on the Preventer Base, at L4," the man tells me. "I'm Dr. Rushton. I've spent a lot of time recently trying to put you back together. I'd appreciate it if you didn't jump around like that and mess up all my work."

The Preventer Base. Then it's true. It did all happen. I shake my head slowly, the rest of the doctor's words penetrating my mind.

"Thank you," I say dully. "I'll…what's going on?"

"You had several fractures. And your back…well, it's healing now. Quite well, actually. We're confident that tissue will begin regenerating soon. But you have to be careful - if you move too much or too abruptly, you're going to tear it again."

My back. I can't hold back a shudder as this man continues to talk so calmly and clinically about my back. That means he's seen it - touched it to bandage it and whatever….And probably other people have too, who knows how many, whole legions of people staring at my back and…

"Mr. Barton."

I jump, as the voice breaks into my budding hysteria. I force myself to breathe deeply, try to calm down.

"Mr. Barton, are you…"

"Trowa," I interrupt harshly. "Call me _Trowa_." I wonder how long it will be before I can hear my name without panicking. I feel a flash of irritation at my fifteen-year-old self. I had to adopt _his_ name. _Had_ to go for the dramatic gesture. Couldn't just give myself some ordinary name, oh no. I had to adopt the name of my enemy. Very dramatic. Very symbolic. But it's proven to be damn irritating and confusing. I should have just gone with Joe, or George, or Jefe or something…

The doctor is talking. I shake my head slowly, and look up at him.

"What drugs are you giving me?" I demand, interrupting him in mid-sentence.

He frowns down. "Some painkillers, muscle relaxants," he tells me. "Why?"

"I want you to stop them," I tell him flatly. They're making me feel strange, sending my thoughts off on odd tangents.

He stares at me for a moment. "They're helping with your pain," he explains softly. "If I stop them, it'll hurt a lot more."

I shrug negligently. Pain I can handle. I can't handle this fuzziness in my mind.

The doctor moves next to me, and carefully slides two of the needles out of my arm. Two still remain.

"What about them?" I ask.

"The one is an antibiotic, the other is nutrients," he replies. "You still need them both. They don't have any side effects."

I nod. I look away from him, and concentrate for a moment on my body, flexing muscles, moving slightly, trying to assess the damage. Despite a dragging exhaustion, I feel better than I did before. My back, of course, is still damaged, and there are a few lingering aches, and a lot of stiffness, but that's probably from lying in bed for…

I frown, and look up at the doctor. "How long was I out for?" I ask.

His gaze darts away from me, and then his eyes return to mine. He looks a little uncomfortable. "You've been unconscious for ten days," he finally informs me.

Ten days! What the hell?! Who knows what could have happened in ten days. Is Barton attacking? Have the others…the others!

"Where are the other pilots?" I demand hoarsely.

The doctor looks away again, and doesn't answer me. I feel a sickness in the pit of my stomach. "Where are they?" I repeat coldly.

Dr. Rushton looks back at me calmly. "They've gone to XV7889," he says. "That colony has been evacuated - the citizens arrived here just a few hours ago. They planned to use that colony as a base to attack XV7870."

I grip the steel rails at the side of my bed, trying to remain upright through the sudden dizziness that sweeps through me. They've all gone - all gone to attack Barton. I failed my mission.

"Attack XV7870," I repeat weakly. "When are they…when will they…"

The doctor clears his throat. "The battle is likely going on now," he says reluctantly. "Today, or maybe tomorrow, depending on how quickly they managed to arrange things."

Today! Now! I push aside the blanket that covers me to my waist and manage to pull the other two needles out of my arm before the doctor realizes what I intend. I'm struggling with the rail when he surges forward to stop me.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demands. Some corner of my mind is amused that he's been shaken out of his professional calm.

"Doctor, I appreciate what you've done." I pause, then decide that that lie is acceptable. "But if you think I'm going to sit here in bed like someone's grandmother while everyone else is fighting a war, you're crazy."

"Mr….Trowa," he begins, and I see him force himself to be calm. "You can't go there."

"The hell I can't," I growl.

He smiles. "I was warned you'd be a bear," he muses. "Ok. Let me give you my reasons why leaving here is a bad and impossible idea."

I hold back a sigh. He's going to be logical.

"One," he begins, "the battle will be resolved one way or another before you get there. Two, all of the suits are already there, and I can't see you piloting one of the transport vehicles into the middle of a battleground."

I snarl at him, but he continues inexorably. "And three, you'll be unconscious before you're out of our air space. Maybe in a couple of days you'll be able to get out of this bed, but you aren't flying to battle any time soon, my friend."

"The hell with that!" I half-shout. "I have to go! They don't know what they're up against!"

The doctor's expression suddenly sobers. "Your friends have all seen the condition you were in when you got here," he says quietly. "Mr. Maxwell and Mr. Yuy were in the room when we took care of you. I think they're very aware of what they're up against."

I reel slightly under the doctor's words…Heero and Duo were…they saw… "You let them stay for _that_?" I demand, trying to force my rage to overcome my humiliation.

Dr. Rushton stares steadily at me. "I couldn't make them leave," he corrects me with a small smile. "Your friends are all very devoted to you, those two especially. Until they had to leave, at least one of them was with you every minute."

I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear how Duo and Heero tried to soothe their guilty consciences by poking around in my shame.

The doctor has my arm, and is carefully re-inserting the needles. "You need to stay here," he says firmly. "There's nothing you can do about the battle now."

I struggle against his grip. "Fuck that! I'm…"

"About where would you say you are in the progression of your temper tantrum?" he interrupts.

I stare at him wordlessly. My _temper tantrum_?

"Mr. Maxwell…Duo…said that when you woke up you'd have a temper tantrum, and that when you were done with it I was to give you this letter," he continues, pulling a sealed envelope out of his pocket. "I have some other rounds to do - are you done now, or should I bring it back later?"

I glare at the other man, not missing the gleam of humor in his mild brown eyes. He thinks he's going to manipulate me with this letter - hold it out like candy to bribe some recalcitrant child…Well, I'll just tell him to…

"Give it to me."

He raises his brows. "Are you done?" he presses.

"Yes," I grind out between my teeth.

"There's a nurse's station right outside your door," he warns as he hands me the envelope. "Don't try anything cute."

I snarl wordlessly, and he smiles back.

"You need to lay down - but not on your back," he warns. He moves to the other side of my bed and quickly arranges me so I'm lying on my side, held in position and my head propped up with strategically arranged pillows.

"Call if you need anything," he tells me on his way out of the room. I nod, not replying. "And, Trowa?"

I glance up to see that he's paused in the doorway.

"Good to see you awake," he tells me, smiling.

"Thanks," I mutter grudgingly, and he's gone.

Left alone, I stare at the letter for a long time. My name is written on the outside, in Duo's handwriting. My mind is curiously blank as I stare at it.

Finally, I slowly open the envelope, and pull out the several folded sheets of paper inside it. I slowly smooth them out, and stare at the top page, not reading the words, just looking at the writing.

Duo's writing is big, the letters jagged and uneven. Just glancing at it, you'd think it would be horrible to try to decipher. But when you look closer, you realize that it's actually very legible, the letters are shaped quite clearly and it's very easy to read. It just _looks_ messy and undecipherable.

I close my eyes. I don't want to read this, don't want to see the explanations of why and how and when. I don't know which would be worse - to read that Duo doesn't love me, or that he does. I don't know if I can love him back like I used to - I don't know if I can love _anyone_ \- don't know if I can ever shake the miasma of Barton that has settled so firmly over me. Just the thought of Duo and Heero looking at my back makes me want to run to somewhere where they can never find me. I don't know if I can face them - him - again.

I clench my fists against that thought, and hear the crinkle of the paper in my hand. I force myself to open my eyes, to relax. With a shaking hand, I smooth the creases in the paper. I take a deep breath, and force myself to read.

_Dear Trowa,_

_I'm sorry. It seems that that's all I ever say to you anymore, isn't it? You'd think I'd learn and quit fucking up, but ‘asshole' is pretty much my m.o. lately, so…_

_Anyway. This time, I'm sorry that I left before you woke up. I didn't want to, but we decided that we needed to take advantage of the mess you made when you left XV7870 - because I know you didn't get out without leaving some kind of mess behind - and follow our original attack plan. We really, really want to get Barton._

_That's the next thing I'm sorry for. Barton. I'm sorry you got hurt like that, I'm sorry we didn't save you…I'm sorry. I know what happened, Tro. I know how he hurt you. You probably didn't want me to know, but I do. And I don't care. Oh geez, wait - that came out wrong. Of course I care. But it doesn't change anything about the way I feel about you._

_Maybe it's good that I have to tell you this in a letter, because you can't argue with me or tune me out or twist what I'm saying and confuse me and piss me off…I love you, Trowa. You haven't believed that recently, but I do. I love you so much I can't even describe it. I have for years, and I always will. Whatever happens to you can't change that._

_Nothing can change it. And that brings us to the final point, the one that is hardest for me to explain, maybe because I don't totally understand it myself. Heero. Yeah, I slept with him back on Earth. You know, you saw us. And you seem to have figured out - because you're too damn observant for your own good - that we were together while you were gone._

_When you left, Tro, when you went away without telling me, without saying good-bye, and I knew you were probably going to die, I felt…well, I can't even describe how I felt. It sucked. It hurt more than anything I've ever experienced. When you didn't come back, and we were sure you were dead, I felt like I'd died too. I know I wanted to._

_Heero helped me through that. He saved me. He gave me some focus, something to hang on to, some reason to live. But he wasn't just comfort. I - don't stop reading at this part, you need to finish the whole thing - I love him, too._

_Gushy people think that no person is whole, that everyone has another person, another half that completes them and makes them whole. A soulmate. I guess I'm one of those gushy people. But there's not one other piece needed to make me complete, there's two. You and Heero._

_Actually, now that I'm thinking about it, I think we're all connected, somehow. All five of us. But that would get a little crowded, so we kind of partition off…Quatre and Wu found each other. And you and I were together. But that left out Heero, so none of us could be completely happy until he was back where he belonged, back with us._

_That doesn't excuse the way I went about putting us all back together. If there was a stupid mistake I could make, I made it. If there was a way to be an insensitive loser, I found it. But that doesn't mean I don't love you, or that I don't love Heero. That I love him doesn't mean I love you less. Somehow, I think, I love you both more for loving the other. Do you understand?_

_You probably think this is crap. I sound like some kind of pussy. But I don't care, Tro. It's how I feel, and I'm not hiding it. We've both been hiding things from each other for too long. You hid your past from me, and I let you. I let you think I only loved the happy, together face that you presented to the world, so you thought that I couldn't love you if I knew the bad parts too. But I do. I want us to be together, and to share everything, even if it's not neat and pretty._

_And I want Heero with us too. I want you both. I need you both. I know you probably haven't thought about that ever - I don't even know how you'd feel about the idea. But I remember the way you used to look at Heero when we were younger…and I've seen him watching you from time to time and I wondered…but that's for later. Right now, all I want you to do is believe that I love you. Please, Trowa. I swear it. I don't lie. Especially not to you._

_So, now, believe that I love you. Later, when Heero and I come back, we all need to talk. Talk honestly, and try to figure some things out. Because if you are a part of me, and he is part of me, that means he is part of you and you are part of him…And we'll solve the puzzle together. There's no rush. We have lots of time to figure stuff out._

_Rest, and get better. I'll be back soon, and we'll talk. Remember - I love you._

_Love,_

_Duo_

_PS I hope I didn't gross you out being so mushy_

I smile at the postscript, forcing myself to blink the suspicious moisture away from my eyes. I do not cry. If the events of the past few months never made me cry, this letter isn't going to.

This letter. Carefully, I fold the pages, and slide them back into the envelope.

There's too much - too much to understand at once. Too many possibilities, too many variables…

Duo understood that, though. He acknowledged it. He said we'd talk - all of us - when he got back.

But one thing he said wasn't unclear, one thing he repeated over and over, to convince me he meant it.

Duo loves me.

And Duo doesn't lie.

I close my eyes, holding the letter close to my chest. I'm tired - too tired to sort through what-ifs and buts and maybes.

I can't do anything but accept it.

I feel more relaxed then I have in months.

I need to rest, need to sleep…

And, despite everything, I can finally do so, can finally sleep…because…

Because Duo loves me.

_________________________________________

"AAAAAGGGGHHHH!" The wordless shout of pain is cut off by the dull thud of yet another blow.

I drag my eyes away from the disgusting little sights that this place has to offer me and look at the source of that sound.

Barton is hanging from his wrists in the middle of the room - in the middle of this room that he kept Trowa imprisoned in for over a month.

It was my idea to conduct our business here. I thought it was rather poetic.

It was a bit tricky getting him hooked up there, though. When we landed on the colony he tried to ambush us, and I accidentally shot most of his hand off when I was disarming him.

Oopsie.

But that made working the chains difficult - the cuff kept slipping over the stump.

We managed to fix it though. Teamwork and creative problem solving will cure any difficulty.

I watch my ‘teammate' with not a little admiration. I'd expected him to be squeamish. I figured that I'd have to lose him in order to get done what I felt needed to be gotten done. But he's better at this then I am.

Another hoarse cry from Barton underscores that point I'd just admitted to myself. The arrogant pretty boy isn't so pretty anymore. Blood runs down the side of his face and down his bare chest. One leg is bent at a rather awkward angle - he really resisted being brought in here. He was hard to convince.

"Do go on, Mr. Barton," Quatre urges, his breath a little short. "I believe you were saying something about my mother. Would you care to continue?"

Yes, definitely better than me. More creative. And that politeness thing…I would be swearing at Barton, calling him names and insulting him. Somehow this ironic courtesy is much worse. I should be taking notes.

"Fuck you," Barton spits defiantly, blood spraying out from between his lips.

"No, _thank_ you," I pipe up.

Quatre nods agreement, one lip curled up in disdain. "I'm sorry, Mr. Barton, that's the one indignity that you visited on Trowa that we'll have to refrain from allowing you to experience. I mean, we're certainly not above hurting you…" One slim hand moves almost negligently along a certain point along Barton's shoulder, and the man howls with pain. When Quatre drops his hand again, I see a long gash on the spot he just touched. I sometimes forget Quatre's background. For all his kindness and gentleness, he's the head of one of the most powerful corporations in the known world, and the only male heir of a family that traces its lineage back to sultans and emirs. Not exactly cuddly people, Quatre's family.

"We're certainly not above hurting you," Quatre repeats. "But as for raping you…some lengths no human being stoops to."

"Moral standards," Barton sneers mockingly, if breathlessly. "I never thought I'd be lectured on moral standards by people who were hanging me in the middle of a room and torturing me."

"Nothing you haven't done to Trowa," I remind him. Time for me to get back in the game.

"Ah, Nanashi," he muses. "Nanashi….somehow…I just…can't help myself when it comes to him. Surely you understand…" His taunting words end in a groan as I slam my fist into his stomach.

"I understand _nothing_ about you, Barton," I hiss into his ear. "Nothing."

"Sure you do," he manages as soon as he has some of his breath back. "Don't tell me you were never rough with him, never played with him a little."

"Normal people don't get their kicks out of hurting other people."

He laughs disbelievingly. "Sure. Well, you should try it then," he advises. "He makes this sound…this half-whimper, half-moan…and he throws his head back and squeezes his eyes closed when he's doing it…It's really hot…"

The rest of his words, if there were anymore, are drowned out in my roar of anger. I want to see him bleed, want to feel him break…want the only person left in the world who has seen Trowa like that to be dead…

"Duo!" Quatre's hands are on my shoulders, pulling me back. "Don't let him make you angry," he tells me in a low voice. "He wants you to be angry, so it'll be over."

"I don't care," I pant, so angry I can barely see straight. "I'm gonna kill him, Quatre, and when I'm done I'm gonna fucking rip him apart and…"

"Duo!" Quatre shakes me hard. "Look around you, Duo. Look around. This is where Trowa was for a month. Look!"

I look around the room. I see the table he was chained to, the shackles on the wall, the hook Barton's hanging from now. I see the disgusting little toys Barton used to hurt him. I see the whip. My chest aches. My throat tightens. My stomach churns. I look down. I can't bear to see anymore.

"Look at it, Duo," Quatre whispers. "Do you think he's suffered enough?"

I shake my head slowly, trying to hold back the tears that threaten. Oh, Trowa…

"We can't really get equal reparation - we don't have enough time," Quatre admits. "But we can do what we can, Duo. We can do more than we have."

I lift my gaze and stare into the aqua eyes so close to mine, eyes that usually are so loving and gentle. There's nothing of gentleness in them now - just determination. I see now what has brought him and Wufei together. Quatre too will do whatever necessary to gain justice.

"So, where should we begin?" I ask.

He smiles slowly. "Let's find out what he did to Trowa, and start from there. We'll work with his ideas first."

"I'm not telling you anything," Barton blusters. "Go to Hell."

"Oh, you'll tell us whatever we ask," Quatre promises in a low voice, slowly moving closer to the twisting body. "By the time we're done with you, you'll be confessing things you did in nursery school."

"So much for absolute pacifism," Barton sneers. "You peace types are all alike - you preach your pacifist ideas in public, then do whatever you want behind closed doors."

"Absolute pacifism was never my idea, Barton," I tell him cheerfully as I move to stand beside Quatre. "So don't worry that you're making me sacrifice my ideals."

Well, Quatre was right. Barton cracked like an egg. Maybe Quatre has been better at getting information out of Barton, but I've done pretty well at implementing his ideas. All I had to do was imagine him doing these things to Trowa…and I didn't need much more motivation than that.

We need to stop, though. Somehow, I know that that time is near. We're walking a fine line here - if we step too far over it, commit one deed that's too heinous, we might not walk away from here whole.

We won't anyway, really. But it'll be a scar we can live with, provided we stop in time.

Suddenly, just as I'm about to start pulling Quatre away, a distant but loud blast fills the air, and the ground beneath our feet shudders. The lights flicker for a moment, then return. The ground continues to tremble, though.

"What the Hell?!" I shout, struggling to keep my footing on the suddenly rocking ground.

Barton laughs. It's the most human sound he's made in a while. He stares wildly at us, his blue eyes vivid in the bloody mask that is his face.

"It took longer than it was supposed to, but there it is. My little gift to you two," he manages.

"What did you do, Barton?" Quatre demands quietly.

"It was supposed to go off a long time ago…I thought the trigger failed. It didn't, though, it just took longer than it was supposed too…" Barton is rambling. I guess I can't really wonder why.

Quatre isn't so patient. Barton wails as Quatre adds another gash to the many adorning his body. Quatre decided that we didn't need to stick to his back, since we weren't planning on doing anything with the rest of him.

"The colony…it's going to explode," Barton wheezes.

"What!?" Dying here is not part of the plan. Barton isn't taking us as his final victims.

"Too late…" he insists. "It'll be gone in minutes…explosions will trigger other ones…once the main reactor goes…" His voice trails off but he doesn't need to finish the sentence. We all know what will happen once the main reactor goes.

"You expect us to believe that you sabotaged your own base?" Quatre asks disbelievingly.

"Was never coming back…either way…"

Quatre's eyes meet mine. I read the chilling confirmation of my own fear - we stepped too far over the line.

"You go," I order sharply, my mind beginning to make the dozens of split-second decisions we need to make if we're going to get off this place alive. "Get off the colony. I'll finish him, then follow you in the Gundam."

"But…" he begins.

"No time, Quatre!" I shout. "You did your part. This part is mine."

He nods abruptly, acknowledging the rightness of my point. "Hurry," he says, heading for the door.

"Quatre!" He pauses.

"If I don't get off….tell Trowa and Heero…"

He nods sharply, but is gone before I can finish.

I'm alone with Barton.

A raspy sound comes from him - it takes a few precious seconds before I can identify it as a chuckle.

"I told Nanashi…I would win in the end," he tells me. "I think I like it even better this way. I might be dead, but I'm taking you with me. Won't that rankle."

"Keep telling yourself that, Barton," I answer shortly. "Maybe it'll comfort you on your way to Hell." As I speak, I pick up my gun from where I had laid it on that evil little table.

A disgusted sound comes form the hanging figure. "You're going to shoot me?" he asks, and his tone is incredulous. "After all that, you're just going to shoot me?"

I move very close to him, close enough that I can smell him - smell his blood, his fear.

"Back on earth, a long time ago, there were criminal organizations, the forerunners of the Syndicates we have today," I begin softly. The need to hurry is pounding in my veins, but I can't rush this. "They were considered one organization, but were actually many small groups, known as families. They were called that because that's what they were, literally. Families. Joined by blood."

"Are you fucking crazy?" he interrupts. He shakes his head. "You're going to fucking blow up and you're giving me a history lecture?"

I continue as though I hadn't heard him. "When someone hurt one member of the family, his relatives, his brothers, made an example of that person. First, they hurt him." I gesture at the bleeding hulk before me. "Then, they shot him."

Barton snorts. He doesn't sound impressed. The ground is shaking more furiously now.

"There were no transplants then, none of the ways of reconstructing life that we have now. But even so, they made sure that every part of that ‘example' was dead. You heard of the Seven Deadly Sins, Barton?" I ask, pressing the barrel of the gun against his side. "Revenge is one of them, you know. But these Families, even though they were seeking only revenge, paid tribute to every one of the seven sins. One shot for every sin. Every organ in your body, Barton. Dead."

He open his mouth, begins to babble, to plead.

I don't care.

I pull the trigger, seven times.

Seven shots.

Left kidney.

Right kidney.

Liver.

Left lung.

Right lung.

Heart.

Brain.

The hulking shell that was once the body of Trowa Barton, son of Dekim Barton, Prince of L3, hangs limply from the ceiling in this shit hole of a room. He's very dead.

Mission Accomplished.

I'm staring at him, memorizing every detail of what I've just wrought, when a particularly violent shudder of the colony drags me back to the present.

Shit!

I turn and bolt for the door, leaving Barton's corpse hanging behind me. I push my way through the hall - debris clutters it, sparks shoot from limply hanging wires, small fires that will soon be big fires burn merrily.

The walls are trembling.

I fight my way into the dock.

A roaring fills my ears. The whole thing is gearing up to blow.

I see the Gundam. It's teetering. Even its weight is not helping it keep its balance in this unstable environment.

I reach it and grab the wire, willing the machine to remain standing until I'm in the cockpit.

I'm in! I strap myself in while punching in take-off coordinates.

Shit! The bay is blocked.

I power the guns, shoot through the debris.

I hit the thrusters as hard as I an, shoot for maximum acceleration….

…but its too slow. The cataclysmic burst of sound I've been dreading erupts behind me; with a roar, the colony explodes, propelling me and my suddenly insignificant Gundam along on the perimeter of the shock wave.

Suddenly, I see Trowa's face and Heero's before me. I reach out for them….

…and they , along with everything else, vanish into flame.

__________________________________

"01! 05! Pull back! All squadrons pull back!!" I shout the commands into the communicator, desperate to ensure that everyone get away from the colony before the explosion occurs. I don't know if I'll get out, or if….I can't even think it. But I have to minimize casualties.

"….on? Where have you been? Where's Duo?" Wufei's voice crackles, then comes in more strongly as I penetrate the colony shield.

I hastily flick on the 360 radar. My hand is shaking. The battle seems to be over. Debris floats by me, and I hastily avert my eyes from the screen before looking at it too closely. I have to get out of blast range myself.

"Anyone within range of the colony, get away!" I shout, suiting the action to the word. "It's going to blow up!"

"What?!" Heero's face abruptly appears on the vidscreen. "What are you talking about? Where's Duo?"

I hear Une's voice issuing sharp orders to the few ships that haven't already headed out, in between demanding explanations from me.

I can't answer her, or Wufei, or reply to Heero's demands, despite the frantic edge to his voice.  
I'm mechanically responding to necessity - getting my ship as far away as fast as I can. My eyes are locked on the radar screen that shows the colony, though, and I'm searching, desperately searching. My eyes strain for the sign of the Gundam emerging from the colony.

But it doesn't come.

It doesn't come!

The man-made sphere that contained the last stronghold of the Bartons is shaking madly - vibrating powerfully enough that I can see it.

"Quatre! Where the hell is Duo?! What's happening?"

Heero. I don't know, Heero. I don't know…

A cry is wrenched from my throat as my radar screen lights up.

Fire.

An instant later, my suit rocks wildly as the shockwave hits me.

The shock.

From the explosion.

DUO!!!!

I scream his name as a throbbing pain bursts through my chest.

Then, there's nothing.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> by Shoori

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from Dacia, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [A Little Piece of Gundam Wing](https://fanlore.org/wiki/A_Little_Piece_Of_Gundam_Wing), which closed in 2017. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after July 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [a little piece of gundam wing collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/alittlepieceofgundamwing/profile).

"Quatre! Quatre, wake up!" I shake him hard, my palm connecting with his cheek.

His eyelids flutter, and open. I see the bright azure of his eyes, and the relief I feel is as intense as the panic of the last hours.

After he and Maxwell went down into the colony, there was nothing - no communication, no sign of life - _nothing_ \- for well over an hour. Heero and I finished the battle, mopped up the last of the resistance, took what prisoners we could.

We were perfect little soldiers, seeing to details, giving orders, getting things done.

I think we were both closer to going insane in those minutes of not knowing what was going on then we ever have been before.

Then, Quatre came barreling out of the colony with his orders to get out of the way, then seconds later that explosion…

And no sign of Duo.

Quatre’s communications cut off, and I had to go retrieve him - no mean feat in a Taurus - only to find him unconscious.

Better than dead.

But he wouldn’t wake up.

We’ve tried for an hour and he wouldn’t…but now he’s…

I scowl as I realize that my thoughts are babbling. I need to focus.

Quatre is all right. He’s ok. He’s alive.

I force that knowledge through my body - send it pumping through my veins with every beat of my heart, forcing myself to acknowledge it.

Quatre is all right.

But Duo…

"Quatre, what happened?" My voice is harsher than I meant it to be. I can’t help it. I need to know.

Heero needs to know.

Heero’s not on the ship with us - he landed long enough to refuel, then went back out into space, went to look for Duo.

Quatre blinks confusedly at me, obviously trying to reconcile his present location with his last memories…

"Wufei…" he whispers.

"You’re on the transport ship," I tell him. "You passed out when the colony exploded. We went out and retrieved…"

He cries out, interrupting me, a wordless cry of fear and grief. "The colony! Wufei, the colony…it exploded?"

I nod.

"Did….is Duo…"

"That’s what I need to ask you."

Quatre winces. Obviously, he catches the note of condemnation in my voice. He’s too sensitive to nuance not to have picked it up. I silently curse myself - why am I treating him like this? I want to hug him, kiss him, show him all the terror I felt when I thought I had lost him…So why am I instead being so cold?

He pushes himself painfully to a sitting position.

"He didn’t get out?"

His eyes plead with me as he asks the question.

I refuse to give him an answer. "What happened down there, Quatre? Where were you for all that time?"

"We found Barton," he tells me evasively.

"It took you over an hour to find him?" I ask him. I hear the disbelief in my own voice.

Quatre rises slowly to his feet. He turns his back on me, his shoulders stiff, his back unyielding. My eyes narrow as I stare at his back. What doesn’t he want to tell me?

"Wufei…" His voice breaks. "Where’s Duo?"

"That’s what you need to tell me," I reply again, relentlessly. "You know what went on down there. I don’t."

"He didn’t get out."

His voice is flat, dull. This time, it is not a question.

I don’t reply.

"Did he get out?"

Still, I don’t answer.

He whirls, and his pain-filled eyes flash angrily at me. "Just tell me, Wufei!" he screams. "Did he get out?"

"No," I say coldly. "He didn’t. The colony exploded, Quatre. There was - and is - no sign of Duo."

He stares at me for a moment. Then, with a soft, choking sound, he drops his head into his hands. His shoulders, so strong and defiant a moment ago, begin to shake with sobs. Sobs for Duo.

I should go to him. Put my arms around him. Comfort him. I want to do that. But I can’t.

"What happened, Quatre?" I ask him again.

He lifts his head, stares into my eyes. His pale cheeks are stained with tears, tears that I’m ignoring.

"Barton…rigged the colony. He didn’t plan to go back, so he rigged it to explode."

"How do you know that?"

His eyes flick away from mine. "He…he told us," he manages after a moment.

"He told you."

Quatre jerks his head down in a brief nod.

"Nice of him," I comment coldly.

Quatre’s eyes meet mine again, and again I see anger flash through the pain. "Is there something that you want to ask me?" he demands, and his tone is the coldest he has ever used with me.

"I want to know what happened," I tell him. I can’t offer comfort, can’t go to Quatre the way my entire body is screaming at me to go…not until I know. "I want to know what went on down there for over an hour. I want to know why Duo is dead."

My own voice cracks on the last word, and I know. I know why I am acting this way, know why I feel so frozen, so detached.

Duo is dead.

When we thought that Trowa was dead, it was as if some part of me had died too. I mourned him, I grieved for him…in the darkness of night I even wept for him.

But his ‘death’ had occurred…far away. I never saw it. I never _saw_ him dead. Somehow, it was…unreal. I was separated and detached from that loss. I _knew_ Trowa was dead, my mind _knew_ \- but my heart never accepted it fully.

But Duo…I saw the colony explode, saw the flames and the wreckage and the debris…and knew that part of that burning detritus was Duo.

It was like during the war…watching my home colony explode, knowing that the flames had taken my parents, my cousins, my clan, my home…the bridge I had trained on that very morning, the shrines to my ancestors, the grave of Meiran.

Today, like then, I stared at the colony, and knew what its explosion was taking from me. I strained my eyes, watching for the speck of metal that was Duo’s Gundam, willing him to make a dramatic, last-instant appearance, expecting him to miraculously cheat death yet again.

And he didn’t.

He blew up.

He died.

And now, I’m blaming Quatre, because he knows what happened.

It isn’t his fault.

I need to tell him that.

But I _can’t_ …I need to know.

For once, Quatre misunderstands my silence, doesn’t realize the struggle going on. He takes it for complete and unrelenting condemnation.

"Fine!" he half-shouts at me. "You want to know?"

He turns his back on me again, stares at the opposite wall.

"We landed on the colony," he begins in a cold voice. "It only took about five minutes to find and apprehend Barton. He tried to shoot us. Duo disarmed him." He stops, and laughs bitterly. "Disarmed him…," he muses. "Literally. He shot his hand off."

I blink, surprised by the blase tone in which Quatre reveals this information.

"We didn’t want to just kill him," he continues. "We wanted him to suffer."

"You tortured him," I say flatly.

He goes on as if he didn’t hear me. "Duo had the idea to take him to the place where he’d held Trowa. He didn’t want to take us there…but we convinced him."

I almost shiver at the detached, cold malice in my gentle lover’s voice.

"He took us there…It was a…cell. About twenty feet by twenty feet. There were…" His voice trails off for a moment. "Trowa was in that room for over a month, Wufei. We saw…the things he used…to torture him. To bind him to. To abuse him. Some of them still had Trowa’s blood on them."

I’m silent. I try to imagine being faced with that.

"I had planned from the first to hurt Barton before I killed him," he admits with that same chilling indifference. "But when I saw that…I wanted to more than hurt him. I wanted to break him, destroy him - make him scream and beg and plead and then hurt him more. I didn’t want him to die, because then he would be beyond my reach."

Quatre’s voice builds in intensity throughout this speech. He’s shaking with the force of repressed rage.

"So, we hurt him. _I_ hurt him. It was more my idea than Duo’s." He whirls suddenly to face me. "Do you want to know, Wufei? Do you want to know what we did to make him talk, make him admit what he’d done? _Do you want to know_?" He demands furiously at my continued silence.

"Quatre…" I don’t know. I don’t know if I want to know.

"Then, the colony began to shake. Barton told us that an explosion was imminent. Duo sent me up to warn all of you, said he was going to kill Barton and follow me."

"So you went?" I’m just trying to sort out all this information I’ve been given, but yet again it sounds like blame.

Quatre’s eyes flash again, and I know that again I’ve hurt him. "Duo said it was his right to finish it - and it was."

I can’t argue with that. It was.

"Go ahead," Quatre demands harshly. "Tell me how disgusted you are, how dishonorably I have behaved. You’re absolutely right. But Wufei -," he pauses, staring at me defiantly, "I don’t care."

I stare into his eyes - eyes that are so familiar, but at this moment so alien. I have seen this side of Quatre only once, and long ago. I believed then that it was the influence of the Zero system. But it wasn’t, entirely. I flew that system too, and knew - have always known - that it can’t bring out in a pilot anything that isn’t there already.

Quatre had it in him then to destroy entire colonies of civilians in the name of his revenge and his cause.

He has it in him now to inflict physical torture in the name of justice.

And he believes that I will reject him for this.

"Quatre…" I begin hesitantly.

Suddenly, his eyes fill with tears, and he turns away from me again. "It’s my fault, Wufei," he chokes out. "Duo wouldn’t have stretched it out so long. But I did, I wanted to, and now Duo’s _dead_. He’s dead because of my revenge, because of me."

And these words free me. I can’t imagine the burden that it is to be Quatre Winner - to have so many different beliefs and values and needs and facets of personality all pushing him to act in so many different ways, all accepting responsibility and blame for everything that goes wrong.

"Quatre," I say again, but this time step forward and lightly touch his shoulder. "It…it is not your fault."

He shakes his head vehemently in the negative, not turning around. "I just told you," he insists, "Duo wouldn’t have…"

"Duo was out for Barton’s blood," I remind him calmly. "He may not have taken as long as you did, but he wasn’t just going to calmly shoot him and rejoin the battle. He wanted the same thing you did."

He’s silent, and I can tell he isn’t accepting my words.

"Duo holds the responsibility for his own death," I say quietly. "He knew he was taking a risk, and he went anyway. You could easily have died too."

Quatre’s shoulders shake again. "I wish I had, instead of…"

I grab his shoulders roughly and turn him to face me. "Don’t _ever_ say that," I growl angrily. He stares at me in silent surprise. "Do not _ever_ wish that, Quatre. _Never_. You can _not_ wish yourself away from me."

His eyes soften slightly, and he reaches up to touch my face, but drops his hand before his fingers touch my skin. "I can’t…I’m not worthy of you, Wufei," he whispers brokenly.

I shift him in my arms and lower my face, abruptly pressing my lips to his. He struggles to pull away, but I don’t let him. I let my worry and fear and loss and grief and relief and love pour through my body into his. All the things I can’t say aloud, I try to express through that fierce caress.

After a moment he relaxes against me, and I slowly break our contact. His head falls against my chest, and we are silent.

After a long time, I begin to feel a hot wetness soaking through my shirt, and I know that Quatre is crying…crying for Duo.

"Wufei…he’s dead," he whispers.

I bow my head, feeling the softness of Quatre’s hair under my chin, feeling sorrow again sweep through me.

"He…Barton…won after all," Quatre says helplessly.

"No," I whisper harshly. Noone must ever be allowed to believe that. "Maxwell did. He wanted to ensure that Barton was dead…that he could never again hurt Trowa. And he succeeded. His mission is accomplished."

"But at that price…"

"Maxwell would think it worth it," I say. I feel a sudden strange lightening in my chest. He would. Duo would have cheerfully sacrificed his life to keep Trowa safe from his greatest tormentor. At least his death was for a noble cause.

But that’s small comfort to those of us left behind. And it will be an especially bitter, rending knowledge for…

"Trowa," Quatre whispers, inadvertently finishing my though. "Allah, Wufei, how are we going to tell Trowa?"

___________________________________________

I move steadily down the hall, skirt my way past the nurses’ station, and go directly to Trowa’s door. I ignore the presence of Wufei and Quatre behind me, just as I ignore the loud demands of the nurses. I need to see Trowa.

I push the door open…and noone’s there. It’s darkened, the monitors are blank and the bed is empty. Trowa’s gone.

I close my eyes briefly, feel my fists clench. They must have moved him. He can’t be…he can’t be…

"Sir! What are you doing? Can I help you?"

I turn in response to the demanding voice. One of the nurses, her lips pursed disapprovingly, is standing there, her brows raised imperiously.

"Where is he?" I demand hoarsely. I need to know.

"Who? Sir, you can’t just barge around here opening doors. There are sick people here, and…"

"Where is he?" I shout, interrupting her tirade. I feel the panic mounting, and, as unnerving as it is I almost welcome it. At least it’s _something_.

"All right, nurse," says a calm voice. I turn my head, and recognize the doctor that took care of Trowa. "I’ll talk to these gentlemen. You may return to your work."

The nurse purses her lips even more tightly, but doesn’t continue her lecture in front of the doctor.

He watches her go, and shakes his head slightly before turning to us. "Welcome back," he says quietly.

"Where is he?" I demand again. I sound like a broken record.

"We’ve moved him to the very end of the wing," he informs me with a smile. "His condition has been substantially downgraded, and he doesn’t need to be so close to the nurse’s station anymore. Besides," he adds, his smile growing wider, "He was driving them crazy. He needed a bigger room and a little more privacy."

"His condition was downgraded?" I repeat rather stupidly. I hear the sounds of relief from Wufei and Quatre, but it hasn’t entirely sunk in with me yet.

The doctor nods. "His injuries are all healing," he says. "His fever broke over a week ago, and he’s been awake for five days."

Five days. I close my eyes, pain and relief warring within me.

"You said his injuries are healing?" Quatre asks softly.

"Yes," Dr. Rushton affirms. "His fractures are mending, and most of the secondary lacerations and abrasions he suffered are healing, if slowly. His back is still worrying me, but all signs of infection are gone." He stops and smiles. "If I weren’t trained to be cautious, I would say that I’m optimistic about his condition."

Trowa’s all right. He’s really all right. I try to force the understanding through me.

I was convinced he would be dead too. That Barton would have taken them both.

But he’s all right. He’s healing.

"What has he been told about the battle?" Wufei asks.

Rushton frowns a little. "The same thing we all have," he says slowly. "XV7870 was destroyed and the rebel leader killed. Our casualties were minimal. XV7889 didn’t see any action." He pauses, and smiles wryly. "That was the big news around here," he admits. "The refugees were relieved."

The big news. The refugees were relieved that their precious colony hadn’t been touched, and didn’t even care about the ‘minimal’ casualties.

Bastards.

I feel a flare of anger. These are the people we risk our lives to protect, and they don’t even care. They don’t _care_ that people died, so long as their houses and stereos and collectible knickknacks are all safe.

They don’t _care_ that Duo’s dead.

My anger fades away, yielding place to the despair that has become almost familiar.

After the colony exploded, I spent well over thirty hours straight searching the rubble caused by the explosion, only returning to the transport two or three times to refuel. I was desperate to find him. If he had made it to the Gundam, had gotten far enough out, it’s possible that he might have survived the explosion. I had to find him, to save him.

After the first day, the focus of my search shifted. I was looking for his body.

The third time I returned for fuel, Wufei dragged me forcibly away from the suit and wouldn’t let me go back out. I slept for a few hours, then went again.

This time I was looking for the wreckage of the Gundam, for anything that would tell me what had happened to Duo.

But I found nothing.

Three days after the battle, I had to give up. I wasn’t going to find anything.

I’ve hardly spoken to Wufei or Quatre. Quatre blames himself, and he thinks that I blame him too.

I don’t, not really. What good would blaming anyone do? It won’t bring Duo back. I just…have nothing to say.

When I finally accepted that I wasn’t going to find Duo, my focus immediately shifted to Trowa.

I had to get back, to see that he was all right.

I have to tell him. He deserves to hear it from me.

I’m shaken out of my reverie by Dr. Rushton. "Forgive my asking, Mr. Yuy, but where is Duo? Trowa’s been…" he pauses, and chuckles. "Well, he’s asked after all of you, but he’s been demanding to see you and Duo in particular."

My heart contracts. I can’t say it. I open my mouth, but no words come out…

I realize suddenly, that I haven’t said it. I’ve thought it, my mind has screamed it, but I’ve never admitted aloud that Duo is dead.

Dr. Rushton’s smile fades away as none of us reply to his question. "Oh, no," he says reflexively. "Don’t tell me that…"

"Duo was killed in the battle," Wufei says quietly.

"Oh, no," he repeats. Suddenly, he looks very tired, and much older. "I’m…I’m sorry," he says quietly. "Are you…"

"We need to tell Trowa," I interrupt.

He nods slowly. "He’s down this hall, last door on the left," he says, gesturing down one of the corridors. "I’ll…I’ll see that you’re not disturbed," he promises quietly.

I nod my thanks, and turn to move determinedly down the corridor the doctor indicated. I feel my heart beat increase as the door nears.

I finally reach it, and pause for a moment outside. I reach out, put my hand on the door handle. Again, I pause.

I feel a light touch on my shoulder and turn my head.

"Heero, can you do this?" Wufei asks quietly. I read the concern in his dark eyes. "I will tell him, if you wish."

For an instant, I consider the offer. But, no. It has to be me. I have to tell him.

I take a deep breath, and push the door open.

This room is much bigger than the last one Trowa occupied. It’s brighter too, but I barely notice these details. My gaze is riveted immediately to Trowa. I notice with some surprise that he’s not in the bed, but is seated instead in a chair in the far corner of the room, facing the door. He’s also dressed, sort of, wearing a robe over one of those hospital gown things. That must be seriously irritating Nurse Ratchet down the hallway.

He looks up sharply as we enter, and I see immediately how much better he looks. He’s still much too thin, his skin still so pale as to be almost translucent…but his eyes are clear and aware. He’s alert. He’s Trowa again.

"You’re back," he says quietly, his eyes raking over me. I see a spark of relief in his eyes. I move farther into the room, allowing Quatre and Wufei to enter behind me.

Trowa’s gaze moves carefully, almost clinically over each of us. I can tell he’s taking stock, searching for injuries, assuring himself that we’ve made it through the battle unscathed.

He examines all three of us the same way, then frowns. He looks at me. "Where’s Duo?" he demands.

I look down. I can’t say it.

The silence lengthens. Quatre and Wufei are respecting my wishes. But this isn’t right. I’m not telling him - the silence is.

I force myself to look up. Trowa has, if possible, gone even paler.

"Heero," he manages, and his voice is suddenly raspy, "Where’s Duo?"

I stare at him from across the room. I should move closer, we all should. We should stand beside him, touch him, comfort him while we give this news. But I can’t.

"He was on XV7870 when it exploded," I burst out suddenly. "I…We…found no sign of him after the explosion."

Nice job, Heero. Nothing like breaking it to him smoothly.

Trowa grips the arms of the chair he’s sitting in. His mouth opens, his lips moving soundlessly. "He…What do you mean you found no sign of him?" he half-shouts, his pale cheeks flushing slightly in anger.

"He…he was killed in the explosion." I feel my eyes burn as I finally manage the words.

Trowa shakes his head vehemently. "No. That’s not possible!" he insists, his voice rising. "It’s not _possible_! What the hell was he doing on the colony?"

I’m silent. This part isn’t mine.

"I shot Barton down during the battle, and he fell back onto the colony," Quatre supplies, his voice shaking. "We…Duo and I…went down onto the colony. We…wanted to make sure he was dead."

"You did _what_?" Trowa demands. He’s begun to tremble, very slightly. He grips the handles of the chair harder to disguise it, but I still notice.

"We went down into the colony," Quatre repeats. I hear the trepidation in his voice.

"Didn’t I tell you to stay away from him?" Trowa shouts angrily. "Why did you go down there, Quatre?"

I glance over at the Arabian pilot. He too is very pale, and his guilt and anguish are written all over his drawn features. But he gazes steadily at Trowa, not flinching as he tells his part of the story. "We had to be sure, Trowa," he says softly. "This time, we had to be sure Barton was dead."

"What happened?" Trowa demands.

Wufei tenses, and I think for a moment he is going to intervene. I understand his conflict - he wants to help Quatre, to defend him. But I know that Quatre needs to do this, needs to explain what happened in order to deal with his own guilt. Wufei knows it too, so he does nothing.

"We…while we were on the colony, it began to…shake. Things were vibrating, exploding," Quatre begins haltingly. "Barton told us that he had rigged it to explode - that he hadn’t planned to return regardless of the outcome of the battle. Duo told me to get off, that he would finish and…"

"Wait a minute," Trowa interrupts harshly. His green eyes are riveted on Quatre, but I can read the disbelieving horror within them. "What do you mean, Barton _told_ you? What do you mean, ‘finish him’? I thought you went down there to kill him. What the hell was going on?"

Quatre closes his eyes, obviously unable to bear the expression in Trowa’s gaze.

"We…I…and Duo…wanted him to…to suffer. For what he did to you, Trowa." He looks up again, and his aqua eyes are imploring, begging for understanding, for forgiveness. "We…he didn’t _deserve_ a quick, painless death, Trowa. He needed to atone."

"To atone?" Trowa’s voice is incredulous. "What the hell did you _do_?"

"We…we…" Quatre closes his eyes again, and a tear trickles from beneath the tightly closed lid. "We hurt him, Trowa. Like he hurt you. We made him see what…"

"Jesus Christ." Trowa pushes himself painfully into a standing position. I see beads of sweat break out on his forehead, and realize this movement must be very painful. "Jesus fucking _Christ_ , Quatre, is that supposed to make me feel _better_?" he shouts at the now openly weeping Arabian.

"Trowa," Wufei interrupts firmly. "This will not help."

"God, Wufei, I told you - shit, I _begged_ all of you to _stay the hell away from him_!" Trowa shouts, swaying dangerously. "And what do you do? Go down and…and…"

"Trowa," I interrupt, taking a few steps toward him. I have to calm him down. He’s going to fall, or…"

"And you," he spits out, staring at me angrily. I stop, confused as I feel myself become the target of his rage.

"I trusted you," he sneers, his green eyes suddenly full of rage and disgust. "I believed you would take care of him. But you didn’t. You let him go down there. _You_ let him die."

I know - _know_ \- in the most logical way that he doesn’t mean it. That he’s devastated by this loss, that he’s lashing out at anyone available in order to try to deal with the enormity of his grief. But as he gives word to my most buried guilt, I feel a responding flame of anger begin to burn within me. Anger I know. Anger is active. I understand it. So even as my logical self screams at me to not be an ass, I allow the anger to overwhelm me.

" _I_ let him die? What the fuck are you talking about?" I demand.

"You knew what they were going to do, didn’t you?" he accuses me. "So is that how we fight now, Heero? We’ve become torturers and inquisitors? An eye for an eye?"

"You _jerk_ ," I choke. "You self-centered…"

"Oh, you’re one to talk!" he shouts back. "Heero Yuy, world savior, sending his troops in to torture his defeated enemies, but all the while keeping his own lily white hands clean…"

"You fucking _asshole_ ," I marvel. "They only did it for you."

"Yeah, and a big help that…"

"They did it for _you_!" I interrupt again. " _Duo_ did it for you!"

"Bullshit!" he snaps. "Don’t…"

"He did it to apologize to _you_!" I continue railing, ignoring his objections. "Because _you_ wouldn’t speak to him and ignored him and spurned him and …"

"Shut up, Heero!" he grinds out, fists clenching at his side.

"Then you left without telling him good-bye, _just_ to hurt him. He thought you were dead, and he mourned you, and then when you got back you yelled at him and wouldn’t talk to him and made him believe you _hated_ him…"

"Shut up!" he shouts louder, trembling with the force of his rage.

" _NO_!" I shout back. "He did it to atone, Trowa. He did it because he thought it was _his_ fault you got hurt, _his_ fault you suffered, and he wanted to make sure that whoever hurt you was punished. So that _YOU_ would be all right and _maybe_ you would forgive him."

"SHUT UP!" he bellows, shaking his head furiously from side to side in denial of my words.

"He went down there and did that for _you_ , Trowa," I grate out harshly. "He _died_ for _you_!" I shout.

" _SHUT UP_!" he screams, launching himself across the room at me. His fist swings in a wide arc toward my face and I instinctively jump back, avoiding the blow. He swings again, and I grab his wrist, forestalling the blow. He swings with his free hand, and this time connects with my jaw. I reel backward, pulling him with me, and his knees buckle, causing him to stumble against me. Thrown off balance I fall heavily to my knees, Trowa falling with me. I grab his other wrist as he lands on his knees, expecting him to resume his struggles, but his head falls forward, stopping against my chest, and he is suddenly immobile. I hold his wrists tightly, but he doesn’t try to break my hold. Suddenly, his shoulders begin to shake, and a keening noise rises from his throat. Trowa is…Trowa, who _never_ cries, is crying.

My rage is gone so suddenly it leaves me feeling light-headed. I stare stupidly at my hands, still enclosing Trowa’s wrists. I bring his hands carefully to my shoulders, trying, somehow, to give him something to hold on to.

I look up, and see Wufei, his arms around a silently weeping Quatre, staring steadily at me. I nod slowly, and he turns and silently guides his lover out of the room.

Trowa is still crying, harsh, painful sobs. It’s obvious that he begrudges every one, and is just as obvious that he can neither stop or control them. Carefully, trying to avoid touching his back, I put one hand on his shoulder, and rest the other on the back of his head, gently pulling him closer to me, silently offering whatever comfort I can. I lower my head, resting my chin on the top of his head, feeling the softness of his hair against my skin. I can do nothing else. I can only kneel here on the hard ground, feeling my shirt front grow wet with hot tears, listening to the sound of Trowa’s agony, fighting a losing battle against my own grief and tears.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> by Shoori

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from Dacia, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [A Little Piece of Gundam Wing](https://fanlore.org/wiki/A_Little_Piece_Of_Gundam_Wing), which closed in 2017. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after July 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [a little piece of gundam wing collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/alittlepieceofgundamwing/profile).

"Trowa. Come on, Tro, we need to get up."

The voice sounds like it's coming from far away. I don't know who it is. Don't know what they want. I feel like I'm drifting, floating. The only things holding me to wherever I am are a persistent ache in my knees joined to the now-familiar throbbing in my back, and the feel of something hard against my head and under my hands.

"Come on, Trowa. The doctor is here to change the dressing on your back. You need to get onto your bed."

The doctor? He can't. I don't care anymore.

Slowly, I open my eyes and lift my head. I look up, and stare into worried, clouded blue eyes.

Heero.

The knowledge that I had been attempting to distance myself from while I tried to drift away suddenly slams back into me with almost tangible force.

Duo.

Duo is dead.

And it's my fault.

I lower my head, unconsciously rocking forward again against the hardness of Heero's chest.

I _can't_ cry anymore. I _hate_ crying, and I've spent God knows how long weeping against Heero.

"Can you get up?" Heero asks, his voice concerned. I feel him shift from his knees into a squatting position, balanced on his heels. He slides his hands up my sides, attempting to help me lift myself to my feet.

I can't help a small shudder as I feel his hands move up my body. He doesn't notice, or takes it as an effort to stand. It's Heero, I remind myself. He's... well, despite the fact that he obviously hates me, he's not going to hurt me.

I feel the weak, stupid tears well up in my eyes again, this time in reaction to the thought that Heero hates me, blames me for Duo's death.

He's right. Everything he said was correct. I hurt Duo, and he died for me, never knowing the way I really felt for him.

Heero's right to blame me, to hate me. But here I am, ready to cry at the thought that I've lost them both.

Lost them both? I pushed Duo away from me, and Heero... well, I never had him. Didn't even know if I wanted him.

God, how arrogant I am. Sitting in my little room while they sought my revenge for me, trying to decide if I would forgive them, when they returned, for their sins against me.

I _am_ a jerk.

While I work my way through my litany of self-idiocy, Heero is gently pulling me to my feet. My knees buckle as my feet touch the ground, but he's there, supporting my weight against his own, not allowing me to fall. He grasps one of my upper arms firmly, someone else whom I dimly recognize as my doctor holds the other, and between them they manage to guide me to my bed.

The trip is only a few feet, but in my drained, exhausted state it seems an immeasurable distance. My eyes close while they hold me in a sitting position, trying to summon some strength, some energy to be aware of what's happening around me. I can't seem to find any. I'm drifting again, drifting away...

I'm jerked abruptly back, however, by a burning, pulling sensation on my back. I open my eyes and see sheets. I'm lying on my stomach... I feel the rub of the material of the sheets against my chest and legs... They've undressed me, and... I gasp aloud at a particularly sharp pain from my back.

"What are you doing?" I manage, trying to pull away from the feeling of the hands on my back.

"I'm changing the bandages," Dr. Rushton's calm voice says, behind me. "It's two hours past the time we're supposed to do it. We don't want it to get infected again, Trowa."

I could give a good god-damn whether or not it's infected. I want his hands off my back.

"Go away," I growl, struggling as much as I can. It's a feeble effort at best. "Where's Heero? Did he go... "

"I'm right here, Trowa," he interrupts, stepping into my line of vision.

He didn't leave. He's here... he's... here! Watching the doctor... looking at...

"Heero," I gasp. "Don't! Stop... " Panic overwhelms me. He can't see this!

"What's the matter?" he frowns, bending down to look into my face. "Are you in pain?"

What the hell does that have to do with anything? "Don't, Heero," I manage.

"Don't what?" he demands.

"Don't... look at it," I choke out. He can't look at my back. He can't!

He stills, staring at me intently for a moment. I close my eyes, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze. When he speaks, his voice is strangely gentle. "Why not?" he asks.

I can't answer. I can't put it into words.

"It looks better," he tells me softly.

I screw my eyes closed even more tightly, feeling still more tears burning at the back of my eyelids at the reminder that this isn't the first time that he's seen it.

"Trowa." He calls my name quietly, but intently. "Trowa, what's the matter?"

I shake my head, unable to answer, unable to think. I hear a scraping sound as he moves the chair across the floor to the side of my bed, and a rustling as he settles into it. Then, abruptly, I feel his hand on my head, stroking down over my hair, onto my face, and this time he feels my unconscious flinch at the contact. His hand stills, and for a moment I think he'll move away. He doesn't, though. His hand doesn't move, it just presses a little more firmly, solidly, against me. I feel the warmth of his touch against my cheek.

Neither of us move for a moment. I'm acutely aware of all the actions of the doctor. He's gotten quicker cleaning and bandaging my back, knowing how much it bothers me to have it exposed. It still takes a long time though, and I shudder under his ministrations, wonder if Heero is watching again, staring at the gashes and knowing how they came about and thinking of me in that position...

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, you know," Heero says. His voice startles me and I jump slightly, opening my eyes. He's not looking at my back. His face is only inches from mine, and his eyes are staring intently at me.

I don't reply. I'm not sure what he's talking about.

"There's no reason to be ashamed to have people see your back," he clarifies.

I close my eyes again. No reason? He has to know, by now... The doctor surely told him, and if he didn't Barton probably broadcast it during the battle...

"Trowa, look at me." His voice is soft, but insistent. I hesitantly open my eyes.

"You were a prisoner of war," he says softly. "You allowed yourself to be captured, in order to keep your allies from having to fight and die from a position of weakness. You sacrificed yourself to buy us time, to save us and help us save everyone else. You refused to betray us, no matter what was done to you." He pauses, and shakes his head slowly. "Your actions were never anything but honorable, Trowa. You have no reason to be ashamed."

I feel the doctor begin to apply fresh bandages to my back. He's almost finished.

"Do you understand, Trowa?" Heero presses.

I close my eyes. He doesn't understand. And I can't tell him... can't...

I don't feel anything from my back anymore. Dimly, I hear the sound of the door shutting. The doctor must be finished.

"Trowa." I open my eyes again. I can't argue with him... but neither can I tell him...

"I know what happened," he says softly. "I know everything."

He can't possibly know everything. For all of Heero's Perfect Soldier reputation, for all the war and death he has experienced, in some areas he is rather touchingly naïve.

"Quatre told me... " He pauses, looking away for a moment. "He and... and Duo... when they were on the colony... they saw where you were imprisoned. They saw... "

I cry out, interrupting him. God, no. Those sights were something I wanted to protect them all from. And they went there. _Why did they go down there_?

"Barton is the one who should have been ashamed. He is the one who acted dishonorably. Not you, Trowa. Do you understand?"

"I'm... I'm sorry, Heero," I manage.

"Sorry?" He sounds confused. "What the hell for? I'm trying to tell you, it's not your fault that... "

"You were right, before," I interrupt. I don't want to talk about Barton anymore. I don't want to talk about him ever. I look into Heero's eyes. I must give this confession properly. "You were right. It's my fault that Duo's dead. I'm... I killed him."

"Trowa, no," he interrupts, a look of pain and guilt flashing through his eyes. "It's not your fault. I didn't mean that, I only... "

"You were right," I insist, breaking in on his attempt to take back the words. "I was... I was a jerk to him. Because I was jealous. I was jealous of you."

Now he closes his eyes. "Trowa... " he begins.

"I was jealous of you because I couldn't see how he wouldn't prefer you to me," I press on, determined to finish this before weariness overtakes me. "You've always been... well, the perfect one. You've always done everything better than me. _I've_ always... admired you. How could Duo not want to..."

"Trowa, I'm not perfect," he interrupts, and I hear the despair and the desperation in his voice. "Everyone's always said that, and that's what people think, but... God!" He pulls away, leaning back in the chair, raising one hand to rub his forehead. "God, Trowa, I don't think you can even conceive how far from perfect I am. I tried," he tells me, lowering his hand and staring at me. "I tried to be what everyone thought. I even married Relena, because that was the perfect ending to the story." He laughs bitterly. "The perfect couple. That's what they called us, you know."

I nod slowly.

"Can I tell you something?" he asks abruptly. I frown, confused, even as I nod permission.

"There was not one single time I made love to Relena - including the first time, including our wedding night - that I didn't pretend that she was someone else. That I didn't pretend she was Duo... or you."

I stare at him for a moment, feeling my mouth fall open with astonishment. Me? I can understand Duo, but Heero... felt that way about... me?

"Some ‘perfect' husband, huh?" he demands bitterly. "Screwing his wife and pretending she was other _men_. You want to know how fucking obsessive compulsive I am?" he demands. "I would alternate which one of you I thought about while I was with her. Heaven forbid I lost track. It was easier to pretend she was Duo," he confesses morosely. "All the hair, you know."

I can't help it. It's wildly inappropriate, insensitive... but I can't help it. I laugh. And I can't stop.

"I'm sorry... " I gasp after a moment. "I don't mean to... I'm just picturing Relena's reaction if... "

He grins. "I know. She'd lose it." He sobers. "See what I mean, though? What kind of sick bastard am I? I was so envious of you two... you both had each other, and there was no room for me."

"But why... " The question trails off into nowhere. I can't believe that Heero Yuy ever wanted me that way, can't understand why he would.

"You both... You both took care of me," he says quietly. "Duo took me with him, broke me out of prisons, followed me around and protected me from myself even after I spurned him and stole parts off his Gundam and was a jerk to him. You... you picked me up off the ground and hid me while I recovered - I would have died if it weren't for you. Then you spent the whole next month with me, and never told me I was an idiot or that I was wasting time... you told me Noventa's death wasn't my fault, but you understood what I had to do to believe that. You did everything, Tro." He leans forward, his eyes suddenly clear and steady. "You lent me your Gundam. You got in front of me and took the shots Quatre meant for me - you saved my life _again_ and almost lost your own. Shit, Trowa, _you're_ the one who's perfect. _I've_ always wanted to be like _you_."

I shake my head as violently as I can against the bed. "I'm not perfect. God, Heero... I'm... I'm damaged goods. I don't even have a name, for God's sake, don't know who I am or... "

"You think Heero Yuy is my real name?" he interrupts. "I don't know my name or birthday or family either. Does that matter at all? And never," he finishes, his voice almost angry, "Never call yourself that."

"But it's true," I insist. "I... "

"It doesn't matter," he says heavily. "It has nothing to do with you. Other people are bastards. You are not."

I shake my head wearily, closing my eyes. He can't understand.

"Stop it, Trowa," he demands, and there is anger in his voice. I open my eyes in surprise and stare up at him.

"You're no different than you ever were, as far as I can tell," he tells me in a hard voice. "You're still Trowa. You still look like Trowa, you still... ." He pauses, frowning at me. "Well, right now you look like crap, but you're looking better than you were."

I sigh. "That's not it, Heero," I begin.

"So, you think you're suddenly a bad person because some asshole used you to play his psychotic games on?" Heero demands. "If it had been me, or Quatre or Wufei or... or Duo, we'd be bad then? We wouldn't be worthy of you caring about us? We'd dirty you with our presence?"

"Stop!" I insert hoarsely. I don't want to think of them in any relation to Barton. He's dead now, definitely dead, and he can't do any of the things he'd threatened to do. But the thought still makes my stomach churn, makes me shake with almost unbearable horror, makes me...

"Trowa." I jump, startled, as Heero's voice pulls me back to the present. "Trowa, he can't hurt any of us," Heero reassures me softly. "He can't, because he's dead. Because of you. You bought us the time to build up the army. If the battle had happened a month ago, we'd have lost. We'd have been horribly outnumbered. You enabled us to win, Trowa, more than any of us who were there."

I shake my head, unable to speak. It wasn't enough, obviously. I couldn't protect them. Couldn't save them. And Duo died, because I left that base without taking Barton with me.

"If anything, this whole damn mess shows how worthy you are. I don't know if I could have done what you did, Tro. After... after I hurt you like I did, you still went... "

"Oh, knock it off," I interrupt, suddenly feeling not a little irritated. "You sound like some damn self-esteem counselor. I went because I was the only one who could. It was my mission. I didn't want to. But... "

"That's just it," he insists, leaning closer to me. "You didn't want to, you knew what you were getting into and you went anyway. That takes more courage and loyalty than... "

"Bullshit," I interrupt rudely. I don't understand why I'm suddenly feeling so angry.

"It's true," he insists. He reaches out, and his hand brushes my cheek again.

I can't help it. I flinch, and try to move away from his touch, the anger I felt a minute ago replaced with apprehension... with fear. "Heero, please... " I whisper, hearing and hating the broken sound of my voice.

"No, Trowa," he says softly. "I'm not backing off. I'm not letting you run and hide and become Pilot 03 again. I... I don't know what the fuck I'm doing," he admits, and sounds more like himself than he has through most of this conversation. "But I'm not leaving you alone. I'm going to help."

"I don't need help," I grind out, and I feel the anger returning. "Just because you have guilt feelings over Duo doesn't mean you need to baby-sit me to pay him back for... "

"You are something else," he interrupts, and his voice too has a hard edge to it. "People say I'm hard to get along with... " He stops, pulling away, and takes a deep breath. "Yeah, I have guilt feelings," he admits. "I feel guilty I let him go down there, though I don't really see how the hell I was supposed to stop him. He was in the Gundam."

I don't reply. What's there to say? If he keeps talking, he'll figure out that he's not responsible, conclude that he was right in the first place in blaming me, then he'll be gone.

"Mostly, I feel guilty for messing his life up before. It was all me, Trowa," he says flatly. He averts his eyes from me, settling back in the chair again. His hands rest in his lap, and he stares at them as he continues. "I initiated the whole thing. That first time, in your apartment. He just came out to comfort me, and I... It was all me," he repeats. "Then, later, after you left... I sought him out. I knew what would happen. I just... " His voice trails off.

"I just... I wanted to be with someone who cared about me," he says, his voice so quiet I have to strain to hear him. "Relena never did. She never knew me at all, just her dream guy that she decided was me. But you guys... all four of you... you all know me." He stops again, and stares intently down at his unmoving fingers. "Especially you and Duo. Quatre and Wufei... they grew up... different. They had homes and families and parents... Things I never had. They couldn't quite understand me. But you and Duo... "

I understand. I understand because I feel - and felt - the same way. It was that unspoken understanding which had pulled me close to both of them. It was why I refused to tell Quatre - surrounded by his mansion and servants and delicate china - so much as my name, whereas I sat by Heero's battered body for a month, then followed him around wordlessly for weeks, not even thinking to question or argue with him. As close as Quatre and I have become, we never had the instinctive understanding, the instinctive knowledge of each other that I've felt with both Heero and Duo.

"We five are the only people in the world who could possibly really understand each other. And of you four, only you and Duo really... " He stops, a noise of frustration. "Really... get it. And I... I had to be near that. Had to feel it. So I messed up everything between you two, because I couldn't stand to be alone any more."

I sigh. That particular issue seems so... petty... now. Pointless. Ridiculous. "Heero, don't apologize about that anymore. It's... "

"But I need to," he insists. "You need to know, Trowa. Duo _loved_ you. I mean, really loved you. He cared about me, he even told me he wanted me, but you, he loved."

I frown. Heero thinks... he doesn't know that... ?

"Heero, that's... he... " I stop. God, this kind of conversation makes me want to be somewhere else. "Heero... he left me a note," I manage.

He frowns at me. He thinks I'm trying to change the subject. "I think... I think you should read it." I motion to the pants I was wearing before, and he hands them to me. Carefully, I remove the folded-up letter from my pocket. My hand trembles slightly as I hand it to Heero. I don't really want him to read it. I don't want anyone else to touch it. It's... it's all I have left. But he needs to see the words... needs to know.

He takes it cautiously, and reseats himself in the chair by my bed to read. I watch him, watch his face change as he reads the letter. I see the already delicate complexion go paler as he reads Duo's words, discovers Duo's feelings for him. I watch him, and I see in his face a vulnerability I have never before seen in Heero Yuy. At this moment, he is... beautiful.

He shuffles the papers, reading the letter through several times as though he doesn't trust the evidence of his own eyes. When he has finished, he stares at the papers for several moments before he looks up at me. I see the turmoil in his eyes - pain and joy and loss all war for supremacy. "I... I didn't know," he says hoarsely. "He never... "

"He wouldn't," I tell him wearily. I'm so tired. "He... he thought... It was hard for him to tell people that. It was kind of... a superstition for him. He thought it jinxed things. That anyone he loved would eventually leave him." I close my eyes. "I guess I had just fulfilled the prophecy for him, so he didn't dare tell you... "

"Enough." He barely whispers, but it's enough. He carefully smoothes the letter, folding the pages back over before he sets it on the small table beside my bed. "Trowa... we're doing the same thing we've been doing all this time. Blaming ourselves. Regretting what we did wrong. Trying to pinpoint exactly which stupid ass thing we did to mess things up." He shakes his head. "It's... stupid. It never helped us before. Why are we still doing it?"

I stare wordlessly at him. What does he mean? What is he saying?"

"Duo... loved us. Loved _us_! And we - both of us - all three of us, actually, messed it up. Now it's too late. He's dead. We can never fix it, never make it right."

I close my eyes against the agonized finality of the words. I feel more tears leak out from my closed eyelids and run over my face to my bed. I can't even summon the energy to care.

I hear him move, and his hand is touching my face again, wiping the tears away. "Trowa, he's dead. We can't change it, and we can't change what happened. But we can be sure we don't make more stupid mistakes."

I open my eyes. Is he suggesting... he can't be suggesting...

"Pretty much all we've got left is each other," he says, and I notice the flush of embarrassment in his cheeks. This is a very untypical Heero conversation, and I can tell he's as uncomfortable discussing such emotional matters as I am. He's determined though. He's on a mission. Operation Emotion? Sounds like a pop ballad...

"I mean, there's Quatre and Wufei... but they have each other. They... aren't the same."

"Heero," I begin hoarsely. "I... I can't. Not after... you're too... "

"If you tell me I'm too damn pure for you... " he begins hotly.

"Heero... "

"I don't know how you could even think that. I'd killed more people by the time I was ten than... I was raised by an assassin, for God's sake. I was... " He stops his disjointed ramblings, and stares at me. "Do you know... do you know who... who supported me? Who funded my training? Who paid my upkeep, gave my orders... for most of my life? Who... who made me what I am?"

I stare at him, confused.

"Dekim Barton," he confesses raggedly. "J. told him about me... .but it was Dekim that ran the show. Told me how to behave, gave me my missions... God, Trowa! How... how tainted can _you_ be?"

"Heero, no... "

"If you're guilty by association, then so am I!" he insists.

I lay on my bed, my eyes closed, trying to absorb this information. But it's not his fault... and he broke away. He refused to play his programmed role in Operation Meteor. "It's not that, Heero," I tell him. "That doesn't matter. And it's not even... it's not just... " I break off with a growl. "There's so much... You don't understand," I finish lamely.

"So tell me," he replies calmly.

I look up at him in astonishment. Tell him?

"Tell me these things I don't know. Help me understand," he clarifies.

Tell him? Tell him about... A vast disgust sweeps through me at the thought of giving voice to all those memories, of ever telling anyone, much less Heero, the details of my life. At the same time, I'm astonished by another, equally powerful feeling. I _want_ to tell him, to tell someone. I don't want to be the only one who knows, don't want to be alone with the past anymore. I want there to be someone... who knows. And cares.

These contradictory impulses battle each other. And I'm left speechless, unable to give voice to either one.

Heero stands up, and looks down at me. "I don't know what there is between us," he says quietly. "I know I've always... cared about you. I've... wanted you. In several different senses of the word," he adds as he sees the panic sweep across my face. "I don't know how you feel... about me." His expression is touched by that vulnerability again. "I don't want to make you go anywhere you don't want to. But I know, regardless of anything else, I want to be with you. I want us to be... friends. Real friends. And real friends... real friends talk to each other. Talk to me, Trowa," he entreats softly. He lays his hand on the bed next to me, palm up. "Help me understand."

I stare at his hand. I feel my fingers clench into fists. I know what he's offering. I just don't know if I can accept it, don't know if I can ever release barriers that have stood for years... don't know if I can...

I tremble slightly as his fingers close warmly over the hand I have hesitantly dropped on his.

He stands, waiting, beside my bed, waiting for me to begin to talk. I struggle, but I can't. I can't speak. I can't stare into those eyes, and shape the words... tell him...

He shifts, moving his hand from mine, and I glance up at him. Has he taken my silence for rejection? Is he tired of waiting? Has he reconsidered his offer?

"I'm getting on the bed with you," he says quietly. "Is that all right?"

I nod quickly before I can refuse him. I try to move over, succeeding only in jarring my back. He sees me wince, and takes hold of my arm, stilling me. "Hold on," he orders.

He kicks off his shoes (definitely palace trained, my mind comments irrelevantly) and seats himself on the edge of my bed. Reaching under me, he lifts me up carefully, sliding into the place vacated. Carefully, he lowers my limp weight, this time resting me on top of him, rather than on the bed. I tense, trying to pull away from the contact, but he carefully stretches out his legs, ensuring that we're both comfortably arranged. One of his hands rests on the back of my arm, the other against my hair.

"Now, you don't have to look at me, but I'm here," he says softly. "Talk to me, Tro."

I try to stop the tremors running through my body. Heero's body beneath mine is hard and yielding at the same time. I search for feelings of disgust, of fear... but don't find them. I feel... comforted. Safe. For a minute, I'm still silent, still unable to speak. Then, suddenly, as I feel Heero's fingers gently moving through my hair, I can't stop talking. I tell him things I've only relived in nightmares. My words run into each other, I'm aware that I'm rambling, making no sense... Hot tears run down my face onto his chest, and I'm still speaking, still mumbling, my lips still shaping words as I sink down into oblivion.

________________________________________

Slowly I relax, slowly I flick the safety on and lay my gun beside my pillow, careful to keep it within easy reach. The signal from Wufei didn’t come, the noise in the hall has worn down and several minutes have passed. I guess it was a false alarm. I’m in the mood where I shoot at shadows, though, and the racket in the hallway was a bit unnerving.

I move my fingers, running them gently through the soft hair beneath my hand. I’m edgy, but my concern is not for my own safety. My nerves are alert for Trowa. He’s not able to protect himself right now, and so I need to watch over him. Quatre and Wufei somehow understand my feeling. Nothing tangible is threatening him anymore, yet when they came in over an hour ago to check on us, and found Trowa asleep in my arms, they informed me - before I said anything - that they would be on guard outside the room, and wouldn’t let anyone through. They said nothing more before they left, quietly closing the door behind them. They didn’t have to. It is enough that we are together, and that we have closed ranks to protect our own from any outsiders - whether they be well-meaning or threatening.

I shift slightly, settling Trowa into a different position. He doesn’t stir at all as I move him. He hasn’t moved in several hours, not since he talked himself to sleep, worn out with grief and shock and the stress of our conversation and his subsequent revelations about his past.

I can’t stop a slight shudder as I recall some of the things he told me before he dropped into unconsciousness. Almost from the beginning of his speech he was largely incoherent, jumping from memory to memory, leaving out words, sometimes supplying only his part of some long-buried conversation, sometimes railing against some absent, but obviously not forgotten, antagonist. The one thing that came across crystal clear, though, was the absolute brutality and misery that characterized Trowa’s life before he became a Gundam pilot. His rambling recitation, half painful confession, half agonizing flashback, told me far more than I had ever guessed about the trials Trowa underwent from his childhood. The things he revealed... horrified me. And the worst part is, I know that that’s not everything.

This knowledge puts Trowa’s recent ordeal in an even darker cast. After experiencing all that, learning to deal with it, building up another life and attempting to distance himself from it, to be thrust back into that world must have been... unbearable. Yet, he withstood it. For us.

I close my eyes, grimacing against the thought. Sympathy, remorse, guilt... What good are they? What have they done for us? What do they change? Sometimes guilt is good, it prevents a person from making the same mistakes he’s made before, gives him a consequence for his actions. Sometimes, though... Sometimes it doesn’t just keep someone from making mistakes. It hinders, paralyzes... keeps them from taking any action at all. That’s the state we’ve all lived in since before we came back to space. It’s time to stop. It’s time to go forward. Weariness stabs through me. I have to do it, I have to ensure that I don’t waste any more opportunities... but at this moment I don’t know if I have the strength to move on... without Duo.

Even as some more alert corner of my mind starts to fight it, I feel myself begin to succumb to the exhaustion that fills me. My eyes remain closed, my thoughts grow less and less coherent, and my awareness fades away to a tiny spark of wakefulness that is... almost...

Just as I’m about to lose myself to sleep, a tiny noise intrudes itself upon my consciousness. In my nearly-asleep state, it takes a moment for my mind to properly register the sound. Suddenly it clicks, and the realization sends my hand grasping for my gun even before my eyelids open.

It was the sound of the door, quietly opening and stealthily closing behind... someone.

Wufei or Quatre wouldn’t have opened the door without signaling first. Therefore, this intruder isn’t one of them. Someone has breached our security.

My hand closes around my gun. My mind rapidly considers and rejects dozens of strategies for dealing with the intruder while pinned down by Trowa’s weight. Finally, after several seconds have elapsed since my realization of the meaning of the small noise I heard, I open my eyes to see who has invaded our rooms.

I stare for a moment, then close my eyes. I must have fallen asleep after all.

I move my fingers, feeling the cold metal of the gun. I shift slightly, feeling a slight pins and needles sensation where one thigh has fallen asleep.

It can’t be.

I open my eyes again, and he’s moved. He’s standing next to the bed.

It can’t be.

It’s impossible.

I’m dreaming.

Why is my subconscious mind torturing me like this?

I stare up at him, and he returns the perusal. Slowly, his expression changes, his mouth widening into a curiously gentle smile.

"You guys look comfortable," he remarks softly. "Any room for me?"

"Duo," I manage, my voice no more than a whisper.

The smile widens into his customary grin. "The very same!" he announces cheerily. "Glad to see me?"

"Duo, how... what... .why... ."

"Don’t forget who, where and when," he teases. "You seem surprised to see me."

"You’re... you’re dead," I tell him stupidly. "I saw you... you... you didn’t get out, Duo, you... "

"Easy, Hee-chan," he soothes, reaching down to lightly cup my cheek with his palm. I start slightly at the touch of his skin on mine, something I thought that I would never experience again. "I’m not dead," he assures me solemnly.

For some reason, those words, or the tone in which they were uttered, strike me as extremely funny. I start to shake, a few chuckles escaping, turning into a ragged sort of half-laughter, gaining strength...

"It’s ok, Heero," Duo tells me firmly, his fingers tightening on my chin. "Calm down. I’m here. I’m alive. Everything is ok."

I recognize the warning he is giving me - ‘You’re being an hysterical onna. Control yourself’ - and immediately force myself to calm down. I try to register this new data. Duo is not dead. Duo is alive. Duo is here. It doesn’t seem real. It can’t be true. After the agony of grief I’ve lived in for the past several days, it can’t be true. I’m not that lucky.

"What happened to you?" I demand when I trust myself to speak freely. I want to scream, jump up, wrap my arms around him... but I can’t disturb Trowa. He needs the rest. Also, I’m half-afraid that this is some cruel, ephemeral dream, and that Duo will vanish if I touch him.

"That is a very boring story," Duo tells me, but his gaze strays to Trowa. He reaches down, and I feel his fingers move over mine through Trowa’s hair, see him move over to gently stroke the sleeping man’s cheek. "Is he all right, Hee-chan?" he asks me softly.

I shrug. "Physically, he’s better. The doctor said his fever’s been mostly down for a week, and most of his secondary injuries are healed. His back... " I pause, shaking my head. "I saw it a few hours ago. It’s better, Duo, but it still looks... horrible. The doctor wants to do skin grafts, but it’ll be awhile before it’s healed enough even for that."

The smile had begun to fade mid-way through my report; by the time I’m finished his lips are compressed into a thin, angry line. "Bastard," he mutters, and I know he’s not talking about Dr. Rushton.

"He is dead, right?" I ask, probing into the unknown territory.

Duo nods grimly. "Oh yeah," he says with malicious satisfaction. "There’s no picking that bastard out of the trash heap and patching him up this time. He was completely dead before the colony blew up."

I wince at the reminder of that cataclysmic event that - I thought - had robbed me of one of the people in the world who are the most important to me.

His expression softens. Of course he can read my reaction. He’s Duo.

He’s Duo. A wave of relief sweeps through me, so intense that it leaves me feeling weak. He’s Duo, and he’s alive.

"I meant what I said before," he comments lightly. "You guys look comfortable. Is there room... ?" This time, the question trails away to nothing, and ends on a decidedly tentative note. He can’t even think there wouldn’t be.

"Of course," I say vehemently. He smiles, kicks off his shoes, and crosses to the other side of the bed, settling in to my left.

"Here," he invites, sliding one hand under Trowa’s oblivious form, "scoot him over a little. I know he’s heavier than he looks. He’s all muscle," he informs me, grinning.

I don’t think to argue, following Duo’s lead until we’re settled to his satisfaction. Somehow, he’s arranged it so that my left arm is around him, his head pillowed on my shoulder. Trowa’s weight is distributed evenly between us. I feel the back of his head brushing against my chest, and his cheek rests on Duo’s chest. One of his limp hands is settled on my shoulder, the other on Duo’s chest.

I have never felt so comfortable, so warm, in my life. The warmth builds up in me until I can hardly contain it. I have to close my eyes, determined not to give in to the prickling I feel behind them.

"So, Hee-chan," Duo murmurs, "Happy to see me?"

I open my eyes, looking down to see his violet eyes gazing coyly up at me. "Yes," I tell him flatly. There’s nothing more to say.

He grins. "Likewise. There were a few hours there... I thought that my goose was finally cooked for real."

"What happened?" I demand again. I need to know.

Duo sighs, his gaze moving away from mine. "I didn’t get off the colony in time," he begins uncomfortably. "By the time I blasted off, the reactions had already kicked in, and the explosion was imminent."

"What were you... " I begin, stopping when Duo shakes his head vigorously. "I’m going to have to tell Trowa, eventually," he says evenly. "I’d rather not tell that part twice."

I nod my head slowly, accepting his temporary delay.

"Anyway, I wasn’t able to clear the shield into space before the explosion," he continues. "I was almost there, though, and there were so many holes in the shield by that time that the pressure in there was almost equalized with space. So the explosion just blew me outward, and when I broke the shield space, it just kept pushing me out."

I nod, silently encouraging him to continue.

"I was in the Gundam, and since I was far enough away from the actual explosion, the suit held together. The shockwave was enough to knock me out, though. I don’t know how long I was unconscious. When I came to, I thought I was fucked," he admits bluntly. "Most of my gear was shot to shit, including my communications gear and most of the radar and navigation systems, and I was running at seventy-two percent power loss."

I whistle softly under my breath. I’d have thought I was fucked, too.

"So I’m running on less than thirty percent power, I have no communications, auxiliary radar, no food or water, I need to try to figure out how to fix the suit from inside the cockpit without the necessary parts or tools, and I had to piss like a racehorse," he concludes whimsically. "It wasn’t the high point of my life."

"So how did you... "

"It wasn’t easy," he assures me emphatically. "I had to channel most of the remaining power into life support systems. I managed to rig it so the suit could move, but I had no clue which direction to move it in."

"So how’d you figure it out?" I ask interestedly. It has always amazed me, the mechanical miracles that Duo can work at will. When you ask him how he did whatever he should not have been logically able to do, he waves a hand and tells you that he ‘rigged something,’ or ‘fiddled with some wires,’ or ‘messed around a little.’

He looks up at me again. His expression is wary, but a small grin plays around his mouth. "I saw you, and saw which direction you went back in," he tells me.

I stare at him for a long moment. The long moment stretches into a longer moment. Neither of us speak.

Finally, I break the silence.

"What?" I ask, intelligently.

"I saw you," he repeats. "From the angle you were at, you couldn’t see me. Light was reflecting off of some piece of junk right next to me, and blocked me."

I just stare at him, a new horror dawning. My god. He could have died, and I had been close enough for him to see me on auxiliary, and I looked right past him.

"Don’t get all worked up, Hee-chan," he demands. "It wasn’t your fault. And you showed me which way to go. I pulled some of the power off life support, punched it into navigation, got an adequate chart, and was on my way." He grins again. "It probably would have been faster if I walked," he comments. "The trip took a while."

I shake my head. I could have saved myself so much misery, and Trowa... .god, I would never have had to put Trowa through that, if...

"Cut it out, Heero," Duo advises firmly. I look at him again, and see that his brows are raised warningly. "It’s not your fault you didn’t see me, and it all worked out fine. So don’t wallow in guilt."

I nod. I’d just resolved not to do that. Old habits die hard, I guess.

"When did you get in to the XV7889?" I ask.

He grins again, and this time the expression is rueful. "About an hour after you left," he confesses ruefully. I groan and close my eyes, allowing my chin to sink to my chest. "I wanted to go right back out, but Une wouldn’t let me. She dragged me forcibly into a room, threw me onto a bed and threatened to shoot me if I moved. It seemed easier to sleep than argue, plus I was awful tired, so I slept for a few hours, then left to follow you." He pauses, staring down at the top of Trowa’s head. "I’m sorry if you were... upset."

"Upset," I repeat flatly. "That doesn’t begin to cover it," I admit.

His eyes, those eyes I thought I would never see again, abruptly raise to meet mine. "Really?" he asks tentatively.

I tighten the arm that rests beneath him, pulling him closer to me, while I reach over Trowa and run my free hand over his hair and down the thick length of his braid. "Really," I tell him seriously. "I thought you were gone, Duo, and I’d... " I pause, and take a deep breath. In some ways, this is even harder than the conversation with Trowa. He was so shocked and battered and overwhelmed that he didn’t need or even want any specifics. I could speak in vague generalities with him, talk in carefully couched terms of the future, tell him what I wanted without _telling_ him what I wanted. Duo, though, is fine. He’s whole, and undamaged, and probably feeling a little smug since he came through the door and saw Trowa and me together. He probably even had a nap on his way here. He’ll expect... he’ll _need_ more.

"Heero, you don’t have to... "

"No," I interrupt him abruptly, shaking my head. "I do need to. Because I never did. I never have. And I thought I would never have the chance." I take a deep breath. "Duo, I know I never told you this, and I tried to not show it, but I’ve... " I stop. "For a long time, I’ve... I’ve cared about you. And... Trowa. I tried not to," I admit. "I didn’t want to. But I did. I do. I thought, when we slept together the first time, that you did it out of pity. And I _hated_ that." I press on, over his cry of protest. "Then, later, I thought you were with me because... because you needed someone. I didn’t think you could ever feel about me, the way I... " I falter to a stop again. Damn, I _suck_ at this!

"Heero, I didn’t think that. I... "

"I read your letter to Trowa," I interrupt. That stopped him - he’s staring at me in amazement. "He showed it to me, because... well, I pretty much told him what I just told you. So he showed me the letter, so that I’d know the truth. And so I knew how you felt, but I’d never told you... " I close my eyes and breathe in. "I never told you that I love you."

There’s absolute silence. He doesn’t say anything.

Why doesn’t he say anything?

Is he mad that I read the letter?

Has the fact that I left him floating in space to die changed his mind about me?

After a moment, I can’t stand it any more. Cautiously, I open my eyes. He’s staring at me, his violet eyes luminous with unshed tears. A brilliant smile rests on his face.

"Oh, Hee-chan," he says softly. "I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear that."

I feel an answering smile curve my lips, and I smile wider at the unfamiliarity of the sensation. Duo laughs, and stretches upwards... and I lower my head... and his mouth presses to mine, our lips melding together in a kiss that is at once more gentle and more passionate than any of the fervent, almost desperate embraces that we have shared in the past.

I feel one of the tears that I have been trying so hard to hold back escape and roll down my cheek.

Duo is home.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> by Shoori

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from Dacia, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [A Little Piece of Gundam Wing](https://fanlore.org/wiki/A_Little_Piece_Of_Gundam_Wing), which closed in 2017. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after July 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [a little piece of gundam wing collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/alittlepieceofgundamwing/profile).

Even as I begin to rise out of slumber, I fight it.

I don't want to wake up.

Dimly, I'm aware that there's…something bad that I don't want to wake up to.

My mind stubbornly refuses to acknowledge…whatever it is that I don't want to remember. At the same time, though, it refuses to protect me with sleep anymore, forcing me ever closer to awareness.

I groan softly, shifting slightly, trying to get comfortable enough to convince my mind that I can - that I need to - stay asleep.

The surface my head is resting on moves beneath me, and I rub my cheek against the warmth. I inhale, and immediately feel myself relax as I breathe in Duo's familiar scent. I slide my right hand up along the firm length of his chest, restlessly searching for his braid. I wrap my fingers around the thick, silky rope of hair, clutching it tightly as I relax, slowly fading back toward complete slumber.

I push on the bed with my left hand, trying gain the leverage needed to turn myself over in the bed. The action is met with a light grunt of pain that melds with my own indrawn breath as the movement sends a flash of pain across my back.

The sound pushes me almost to complete wakefulness. That was Heero.

What's Heero doing in my bed?

What's wrong with my back?

My back.

Barton.

Heero.

The memory that I was fighting so hard against recognizing, the one that's been preventing me from waking up, the one that I've been refusing to open my eyes to face, is suddenly there, hanging stark and barren in my mind.

Duo.

Duo is dead.

My throat constricts, and a knot of pain solidifies and pulses within my chest.

Duo is _dead_.

But…if Duo is dead, why can I smell him? How am I clutching his braid in my hand?

Maybe I've finally gone completely crazy.

It's no wonder, really. Maybe I'm to the point of insanity where I'm experiencing sensory hallucinations, where I can smell and feel things that aren't really there.

But if I'm crazy, how can I be wondering if I'm crazy?

Maybe all madness contains within it a small core of sanity, a minute remnant of reason that knows - _knows_! - that the rest of the psyche is crazed, but can't help it, can't change it, can't control it.

Somehow, the thought of that little piece of awareness, surrounded and trapped by insanity, is one of the most horrible things I can conceive of. A moan of protest escapes my lips, and I frantically shake my head back and forth. No! I can't be imprisoned by myself! I can't spend the rest of my life trying to get out, trying to…

"Trowa." Hands gently clasp my shoulders, and I feel fingers stroke my hair. Hands on each shoulder…another in my hair…too many hands, too many…

"Trowa, wake up. You're dreaming."

That voice. I must be dreaming. But what am I dreaming about? Am I dreaming he's here? Am I dreaming he died? Am I dreaming I'm crazy? Or is it just more hallucinations, auditory mirages that will vanish when I open my eyes…

"Open your eyes, Tro. Wake up."

Delusion or no, I can't refuse him. Slowly, I open my eyes.

The first thing I see is my own hand, wrapped securely around a familiar length of chestnut braid. I gingerly trace the plaits with one finger, feeling the softness of the hair against my skin. My eyes move over the expanse of tan uniform shirt both my hand and head are resting on.

Slowly, painfully, I lift my head, turning it to the side…

…and stare into a pair of smiling violet eyes.

Violet eyes.

Duo's eyes.

My gaze moves over his face - taking in his eyes, the structure of his cheek bones, his too-hollow cheeks, the wide, generous mouth…

I feel like I'm suddenly in greatly increased gravity - like the atmosphere itself is pressing on me, and the simplest of movements takes massive effort and can only be accomplished in slow motion.

Slowly, fighting against this oppressive force, I move my face again, and find myself staring into Heero's dark blue eyes. He seems…confused, as though he's not quite sure how to react. I read joy, excitement, tension, worry and bewilderment in his expression, before I turn my head again.

He's still there, staring at me. He hasn't disappeared. Will he vanish if I speak?

"Trowa."

 _He_ spoke. And he didn't disappear.

"D…Duo," I stammer, my voice a bare whisper. Please don't let this break the spell. Don't let him disappear. If it's a dream, let me stay in it.

"It's me, Trowa," he assures me softly, his hand rubbing up and down the length of my arm. "It's me, and I'm here. I'm all right."

"Duo…you're dead," I whisper. Maybe he came only to say good-bye to me. Maybe he doesn't even know.

I feel a flash of impatience. How could he not know?

God, I don't have to…tell him, do I? Send him away? That's too…cruel…

 _"And too **impossible**!"_ my logical side bellows. I'm barely aware of the reproach.

"I'm not dead," he assures me softly, his voice sincere. "I escaped. My suit was damaged and it took me a long time to get back, but I'm not hurt. I'm alive."

Alive. Duo…alive? Here?

"You're not…dead?" I ask tentatively.

He shakes his head firmly. "No, Trowa." A small smile curves his lips, breaking up the sober stillness of his expression. "I promised you I'd come back," he reminds me softly. "You weren't conscious, but I promised you. I never lie."

Duo never lies. And he said he's alive. So he must be…must be…

The smile fades away, and he stares at me, raw honesty and sincerity in his eyes. "I'm here," he tells me, "and I'm not going anywhere. I'm never leaving you again, Trowa. Do you understand?" he presses gently. "I will _never_ leave you alone, ever again."

Duo's alive. Duo's here. With me. And…Heero. He's…Heero won't…is he… leaving, now? Does he…do I want him to?

I turn my head again, and he's still staring at me.

"Me too," he promises softly. "I'm here too."

I can't answer. I don't know what…I can't…My fingers tighten, clenching the material of Heero's uniform shirt in my fist, hoping that that tells him… something… what he needs to know…what I need to express.

I turn back to Duo. He's still there. I can't…I should say something…but I can't speak…

"It's really ok, Trowa," he assures me. "I'm fine. I'm here, with you." He pauses, and smiles at me. "I love you," he whispers, and leans up, pressing a soft, gentle kiss against my lips.

My eyes close as he draws away, and I feel myself begin to tremble violently. My head drops back down against his chest, and I hear the hoarse, choked sounds that escape from my throat. Hands are gently stroking my arms, my shoulders, my hair…touches meant to calm, and soothe…I hear Duo's voice, murmuring words of comfort as I weep out my fear for him and my overpowering relief at his return against his chest. He's still patting me and murmuring his reassurance when I sink back into my oblivion, this time drawn there by the irresistible pull of exhaustion, not running there from a need to escape.

There's nothing I need to run from anymore. Duo is alive. Nothing else matters.

_______________________________________________

I start awake, jolted out of slumber by a loud rapping on the door.

Wufei.

I blink sleepily, turning my head to peer at Heero as I absently stroke Trowa's arm. Heero is awake, and staring at me. I don't know if he was sleeping too and was just awakened, or if he was awake all the time, watching Trowa and me as we slept. Heero's one of those annoying people who's immediately completely aware and alert, the second they wake up. Trowa's usually like that too, but this time the rapping on the door didn't even wake him. He slumbers on, his weight sprawled evenly over both Heero and me, one hand clenched tightly in the material of Heero's shirt, the other wrapped close around my braid. I smile slowly at Heero as I luxuriate in the warmth generated by the close huddle formed by the three of us.

Heero smiles back, almost shyly, before yelling out permission for Wufei to enter.

The door opens, but instead of Wufei, Dr. Rushton enters the room.

I guess I should feel embarrassed. I mean I hardly know this man, and here I am in bed with two guys.

I'm not, though. I mean, we could hardly be more clothed. Well, except for Trowa. He's just got one of those weird hospital gown things on, but…I'm starting to feel almost uncomfortably hot, I have so many clothes on. The doc's a cool guy, anyway, he won't…

"What do you two think you're doing?"

I blink, surprised at the harsh tone. Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I see the doctor scowling at us.

"I was…we were…we wanted him to…"

Is that Heero? Stammering? I turn my surprised gaze to him. Maybe that's why he'd never let anyone patch him up. Maybe he's scared of doctors.

"You both need to get up. Now."

There's no mistaking that tone of command. I start to feel a bit irritated, though I don't argue. Carefully, I peel Trowa's fingers away from my braid, and start to carefully slide out from under him.

"Don't jostle him any more than you already have," Rushton snaps, moving to my side of the bed to support Trowa's weight in a stationary position while I slide out. He orders me to the other side of the bed to do the same thing while Heero gets up. Carefully, we settle Trowa's unconscious form onto the bed.

Rushton scowls down at him, then lays one palm on his cheek, testing for something. He makes a sound of exasperation, moving his palm from Trowa's cheek to his forehead, swearing slightly under his breath.

"What's the matter?" I demand. What's his problem? What's going on?"

He ignores me, and picks up one of Trowa's arms, settling his fingers against his wrist. He holds his hand steady for a moment, glancing at his watch. Abruptly, he rests Trowa's hand back on the bed and swears again, more viciously.

"What's wrong?" I demand, more loudly this time. I feel the panic start to mount, worse because the doctor won't tell me what's wrong.

"Stay here," he orders tersely. "I will be right back. Don't touch him," he finishes over his shoulder as he bangs out the door, leaving it open behind him.

Immediately disregarding his order, I reach down and press my own palm to Trowa's cheek. Heero is immediately beside me as I cry out, reaching over me to touch Trowa's forehead. We stare worriedly at each other, both of us feeling the heat radiate from his flushed skin.

The heat.

Too much heat.

"What's wrong?" Wufei's voice comes from the open doorway.

"I think his fever is back up," Heero says after a moment.

I can't stop staring at Trowa, noting the pallor of his skin under the artificial flush of the fever. I thought he would be better than this by now. It's been two weeks. I mean, I didn't expect him to be running any marathons, but I thought that he'd be out of this stage by this point.

Wufei moves further into the room, stopping at the foot of the bed to stare down at Trowa.

I glance up, noticing he's alone. I look past him into the hallway by the open door, but don't see anyone.

"Where's Q?" I ask.

Wufei looks up at me and shrugs, the worry in his dark eyes belying the casual gesture. "I don't know," he admits. "He went off with Dr. Rushton about a half hour ago, and when the doctor came back, Quatre wasn't with him."

I scowl. Now I'm starting to get mad. He drags Quatre off, bursts in and starts giving orders, won't even tell me what the Hell is going on, then he's gone again. The doc better get back here soon; he's got some ‘splaining to do.

Just then he reappears, several nurses with him. They push us unceremoniously out of the way and bang things around on the bed, releasing several levers that hold it in place and enabling it to be moved. Still without a word to us, they begin to wheel the bed out of the room.

"Just a god-damned minute," I burst out angrily, ignoring Wufei's restraining hand. "Where the hell are you taking him? What's going on?"

The doctor nods sharply to the nurses, and they wheel Trowa out the door. The doctor turns and frowns at me.

"We are transferring him to another room," he informs me, and his words are clipped with annoyance. "His condition is being upgraded again. He needs to be in a room more accessible to the nurses, with monitors. Again."

"Why? What's wrong?"

"Follow me," he orders. Turning on his heel, he strides out of the room, the three of us tagging on his heels.

I feel my anger mounting. Why won't he give me a straight answer?

We arrive at Trowa's new room to find that they've been busy. In seconds, they've already got the bed settled, two of them are running IVs into his arm, another is attaching the monitors. The rest are wheeling odd-looking machines around, wrapping things around his arms, pressing other things against his skin…doing weird hospital stuff.

I hate hospitals. They make me very nervous. The more they do the more Trowa looks like some sad little doll, this pathetic little creature they're running their experiments on.

The nurses begin calling out messages in code when the doctor enters.

"Sterile cart ready, doctor."

"Temp. almost one-oh-four, doctor."

"BP reading 140 over 90, doctor."

"Pulse elevated as well, doctor."

Rushton growls and pushes his way through the flock of nurses to Trowa's bedside.

"IVs running, doctor."

OK. He's a doctor. We know it, they know it, he knows it. These medical types are worse than military types.

"Thank you. You can all leave," Rushton says tersely.

Obviously this was not the order they were expecting. They stop fluttering around Trowa and stare at Rushton. Some of their mouths hang open in astonishment.

"If I need you, I'll call," Rushton says decisively, his tone heavy with warning. "Thank you."

This time they take the hint, turning and moving slowly to the door, casting surprised looks at him over their shoulder. Before they're even out the door some of them have their heads pressed together, whispering their amazement at the doctor's unorthodox actions.

Women.

I turn my head and see Wufei, his brows raised in astonishment, mouthing some question at Heero, who raises his hands and shrugs in a gesture signifying his own bewilderment.

Maybe I shouldn't be so hard on the feminine gender.

"You!" the doctor barks. I look up, startled, and see him staring at me.

"Come here," he orders sharply.

I approach the bed, moving to the side opposite the one the doctor is standing on. The small cart covered with various bottles and bandages is beside me.

"I want you to see this," Rushton tells me. His stares at me unflinchingly, and his brown eyes, which I remember as mild and humorous, are hard and angry. "He wouldn't want me showing you this, but I think you need to see it."

He unties the back of the flimsy gown Trowa is clad in, pulling the material aside to expose the heavy mass of bandages covering his injured back. The doctor mutters under his breath as I stare at the bandages, perplexed at the pale crimson stains marring the snowy whiteness. It can't be…

"I knew it," Rushton growls. "I just knew it." Carefully, he begins to peel away the layers of bandages. They come off slowly, each layer damper, each layer stickier, each layer redder than the one before. Blood. The bandages are covered with blood. Trowa's blood.

"He's still…the bleeding hasn't stopped yet?" I manage.

Rushton glances up at me, his gaze piercing. "It _had_ stopped," he tells me, emphasizing the past tense. "It's started up again."

"Why? What made it start again?" I demand.

Rushton stares hard at me another moment, but doesn't reply. "I want you to look at this," he says instead. "Look hard." He peels away the last layer of bandages, exposing Towa's back.

I cry out as he exposes the raw, bloody flesh. It looks…the same. I thought it would be healed up some, scabbed over…something. The clumps of gore that had clung to it the first time are gone, of course, and it looks like the infection has gone, but other than that…It still doesn't look like a human back. The gashes are still there, overlapping each other to the point where it's virtually impossible to separate them from each other. Blood is smeared over the entire surface, and several places are oozing more of the red fluid.

"It isn't any better," I say stupidly, staring at Trowa's injuries.

"Actually, it is," the doctor says quietly. "If that gives you any idea of how bad it was."

"But why…why hasn't it…"

The doctor sighs. The sound is tired. "The magnitude of this injury is what makes it so overwhelming," he explains. As he speaks, he gestures peremptorily toward certain objects on the cart beside me. I hand each object to him in turn, and he begins to carefully clean Trowa's injuries. "Normally, if you have a cut or a gash, and it bleeds, your body sends white blood cells to combat any possible infection or bacteria entering from the point of injury. These cells accumulate and die, and clog up the wound. That accumulation of cells is what's called a scab. They prevent anything from entering, and help the injury to heal. But they can form because they use the skin on either side of the injury as walls, if you will, and the scab is the bridge or dam holding them together. In this case…" he pauses, staring at the torn flesh under his hands, "there is nothing for a scab to build on. The cells just bleed away. There's _nothing_ , Mr. Maxwell," he stresses, glancing up at me for a moment.

I say nothing. What is there to say? It certainly doesn't make me feel any better to realize how incredibly I'd misjudged the seriousness of Trowa's wounds.

"All of the tissue, all of the skin has to regenerate," he continues relentlessly. "It all has to re-grow completely, and that takes a very, very long time."

I feel my anger mount again as I continue to stare. This time, I'm not angry at the doctor. I'm angry at Barton, and that's useless. He's dead.

"I don't think you understand the enormity of these injuries," the doctor is saying.

Ok, maybe I am still angry at the doctor. "I understand," I snap. "I know how…"

"I don't think you do!" the doctor interrupts in a half-shout. I stop arguing, amazed at this show of temper from the mild-mannered doc.

"Look. Listen," he orders, visibly reining in his temper.

I look and listen, unable to disobey, as he shows me particulars of the injuries Trowa suffered. I watch him trace particularly deep or painful gashes. He points out one that nicked a nerve, and describes for me in vivid detail the pain that is experienced when nerves are damaged. He explains what would have happened if one particular gash had been an eighth of an inch deeper, if this one had been a millimeter to the right, if this one had curved upwards instead of downwards. In a completely emotionless voice, he informs me that, by his best calculations, if the beating had continued for another ten to twenty seconds, Trowa would be dead.

"Why are they bleeding again?" I ask. I have to restart the question twice. My mouth is too dry to speak.

"Help me bandage this," he orders instead of answering my question. I'm too numb to argue. I'm too overwhelmed by the enormity of Trowa's pain. I knew before how badly he was hurt, but I didn't…well, I guess I didn't know. I thought it was like…like all the times one or the other of us has been hurt. Maybe we'll be unconscious for a little while, then we wake up grouchy and cranky and determined to go. It might hurt for awhile, but it's nothing we can't deal with.

This is something different. This isn't a bone to set or a concussion to deal with or a burn to keep uncovered.

"As for his other injuries…," the doctor stops. "Well, you're not looking at them," he declares brusquely after a moment. "He would be humiliated enough to know that I showed you what I have showed you." I catch the implicit warning. Don't tell him. Don't worry, doc.

True to his word Rushton doesn't show me, but he paints a vivid picture for me of the other injuries Trowa still bears. He tells me of the tears, the contusions, the internal injuries he suffered from the abuse they heaped on him. By the time he's done my eyes are smarting from tears I'm trying to hold back, and the doctor has had to move around so he can reach the cart himself. I hear small sounds of shock behind me, and I know that Wufei and Heero are reacting to the news the same way I am.

"I wish he wasn't dead," I mutter, unable to bear the helplessness I feel. "I'd kill him again. I'd…"

"There, Mr. Maxwell, is the crux of our problem," the doctor declares in a hard voice.

I blink the moisture away from my eyes, suddenly wary. Something in his tone warns me there's even worse to come.

Dr. Rushton has finished bandaging Trowa's back, and he moves away from the bad. He folds his arms across his chest, and glares at us all impartially. "We need to clear up a few things, and set a few ground rules," he declares. "Otherwise, you're all out of here until he can walk out and see you himself."

"I'd like to see you try to keep me out," I bristle. "You can't…"

"Oh yes I can," he interrupts. "I don't care who's in charge elsewhere on this base, but this medical wing is mine. Don't try me, Mr. Maxwell," he warns. He stands his ground calmly under my furious glare, and when I force myself to remain silent, he continues.

"I've shown you the extent of his injuries," he begins. "I want you to understand that, while they are extremely painful on their own, any other movement exacerbates that pain immensely. It is excruciating for him every time we clean and rebandage his back, yet he never makes a sound, hardly moves at all the entire time." He pauses, shaking his head. "I can't imagine how much it must have hurt to roll onto his side, much less stand up and get dressed and sit in a chair waiting for you all. He wanted to appear as normal as possible. He didn't want you to be worrying about him."

I wince, feeling the guilt those words were meant to provoke. He was trying to make things easier for us. How…Trowa.

"It worried him a lot, to be here while the rest of you were in danger," the doctor is saying. "He believed, though, that the sacrifices that he had undergone to get to you, to warn you of what you might face, would help keep you safe. He believed that you would be as careful of yourselves as he was of you."

I peer closely at the doctor. Either he has ESP, or Trowa has been a lot more communicative with Rushton then he ever has been with anyone before in his life. Maybe he drugged him up and forced some confessions.

Rushton sees the question in my eyes. "I have spoken with Mr. Winner," he begins.

Oh. Mr. Winner. Mr. ‘I'm a bad boy and it's my fault Duo died' Winner. Mr. ‘breaking down in hysterical tears when he sees me and begging at the top of his lungs for forgiveness' Winner. Mr. ‘I need a confessor' Winner. Looks like he found one.

"He told me what happened at the battle," he clarifies.

"Look, doc, I'm sorry if you disapprove of what we did, but…" I begin hotly.

"I'm not judging you for that," he interrupts. "I know nothing of battle. I don't know what I'd do in your place. I'm not…I'm not sorry that the man who caused those injuries that I've been trying to repair is dead," he admits. He sounds pained. I guess it's hard for a doctor to wish away any life. I can't really understand that, but I can respect it, I think.

"What I do know is that your actions have had an extremely detrimental effect on my patient," he declares bluntly.

" _My_ actions?" I blurt out. "What the hell did I do? I was trying to protect him, trying to…"

"If his safety were your real concern, you'd have eliminated the problem immediately," the doctor corrects me calmly.

Eliminated the problem. He's been with the military too long.

"Instead, you sought revenge. For yourself," he clarifies. "Ignoring the fact that you could be killed, choosing not to examine the possible consequences, completely disregarding the possible damage that you could be causing Trowa."

Ouch. He doesn't beat around any bushes, does he?

"His fever was down. His back had almost stopped bleeding independently, to the extent where we weren't supplying him with transfusions anymore. His room had been transferred." Rushton pauses, letting this sink in.

"Then came the news that you were dead. That would have put him back into shock. Shock elevates adrenaline, the heart rate and the blood pressure. It would also have triggered feelings of grief, guilt and despair, all of which have immensely detrimental effects on the body. Then, hours later, the discovery that you are alive." Rushton looks at each of us in turn. "Good news, this time. But still, another shock. More of the physical effects caused by that state. Too much, too quickly. I doubt that I would be wrong in guessing that neither of these pieces of news were broken to him gently," he adds dryly.

I wince. I wanted to surprise him. I thought…I was pleased that I would be able to make a dramatic entrance.

I'm such an idiot.

"In his injured state, this was all too much for him to cope with," Rushton finishes. "His blood pressure increased dramatically, causing the wounds on his back to begin bleeding again. The emotional pressure played havoc with his physical systems, pushing his fever up, further weakening him. He's unconscious again, and it wouldn't surprise me at all if he's out for a good length of time."

I close my eyes. I did this. Sure, Barton caused the injuries. But this relapse is my fault. Just like Rushton said, I caused it with my carelessness and overconfidence and grandstanding.

"Mission accomplished, doc," I say tightly. "I'm an ass."

"I don't want you to feel like an ass," he replies flatly, but his voice has a milder edge than before. "I just want you to realize that Trowa is very badly hurt. I, frankly, am amazed that he's alive. It's astounding that he made it back here at all, and, to tell you the truth, as much as I tried to be optimistic, I half expected that he would die of these injuries in the first few days he was here." He sighs, looking very tired. When he speaks again, his voice is earnest. "You also need to realize the effect your actions will have on him. You need to know that he's likely to react to things differently than usual, and that you have to be careful of what you do and how you do it." He stares directly at me. "You have to _think_ about what you're doing. Do you understand?"

I jerk my head up and down. My God. I hurt him.

"Now. You can stay here," Rushton tells me with the air of graciously allowing me a favor. "Be quiet. Don't try to wake him up. If he does wake up - which it is very unlikely he will do for a while - don't excite him. And for God's sake," he finishes acerbically, "don't lift him up and jostle him around and jar his injuries like you did before. He won't be up for that kind of thing for awhile." He sobers even more. "Physically, that is. Emotionally, it might take even longer for him to recover from the effects of…"

"Thank you, doc," I interrupt. I've had enough. I won't discuss _that_ with this man who, despite how helpful he has been and how well-meaning he is, is still a stranger.

Rushton nods. Apparently, even though he's pissed at me, he still knows how far is too far. "I'll be in to check on him soon," he says quietly. "Remember what I said."

And he's gone. That's what we call a strategic withdrawal.

The three of us stare awkwardly at each other for awhile. "I'll…I'll go guard the door," Wufei says after a moment.

I sigh, shaking my head. "Why don't you go find Quatre," I suggest. "Sounds like he unloaded his guilt feelings all over the doctor. I doubt he got much sympathy," I remark, attempting a grin. "Go find him."

Wufei nods tightly and heads for the door.

"Wufei!" I call after him.

"Tell him…Tell him it isn't his fault," I ask when he turns around to look at me. "Tell him it's my own fault. I'm a big boy." Wufei stares at me for a moment, gives the barest of nods, and is gone as well.

Left alone with Heero I stare at him, unable to formulate a single thing to say. Very slowly, he moves closer to me and carefully wraps his arms around me, holding me loosely. I sigh, and lower my forehead onto his shoulder.

"It's my fault too," he says after a moment. "I don't want you to…I know what the doctor said, but it isn't all your fault."

"I was the one who had to take my time roughing Barton up," I say bitterly. "Then I had to hot-shot in here, making a famous Maxwell entrance and…"

"Well, I wasn't exactly suave," Heero interrupts.

I pull back slightly. "What do you mean?" I frown, noting the flush of embarrassment across his cheeks.

"Well, I didn't break the news very smoothly," he begins lamely. "Then…well, he yelled at me. I yelled back. I told him…" He clears his throat. "He said it was my fault you died. I told him it was _his_ fault. He tried to slug me. I grabbed him and dragged him down. Then, I…"

"Stop," I groan, lowering my head back to his chest. "Enough. I can't hear the rest of it now."

"I'm sorry," he says quietly.

Well, there's a red letter day. Admission of emotional wrong-doing from Heero Yuy.

"Don't be sorry, Hee-chan," I answer, turning my head to look up at him again. "We're just both stupid, I guess," I grin.

His mouth twists wryly. I guess that doesn't make him feel better.

"Anyway," I sigh, looking around the small room. "I guess we'd better get comfy. We can practice while we wait," I suggest.

"Practice what?" Heero frowns.

I smirk ruefully at him as I seat myself. "Being sensitive," I declare with gloomy relish.

Heero grimaces. "Well," he remarks after a moment, staring pointedly at my position in the room's only chair, "It'll be harder for some of us than others."


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> by Shoori

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from Dacia, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [A Little Piece of Gundam Wing](https://fanlore.org/wiki/A_Little_Piece_Of_Gundam_Wing), which closed in 2017. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after July 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [a little piece of gundam wing collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/alittlepieceofgundamwing/profile).

"How is he?"

I glance up, and see Quatre’s worried face staring down at me. I shrug, feeling the exhaustion that I’ve been trying, unsuccessfully, to keep at bay. "Better," I admit cautiously. "He’s not as warm - I think the fever is breaking. He might just be asleep now, not unconscious." He’s been out almost an entire day. The doctor said he might be out several more days. I need him to wake up. I need him to…

"Good," Quatre says simply, interrupting my train of budding hysteria.

We’re silent for a moment, the two of us, staring down at the still form in the bed before us. I’m aware of Heero and Wufei’s presence in the room. We’re all together, all in one place. It’s been…far too long since that happened. I thought it never would again. I feel a stinging in my eyes, which I impatiently blink away. I must be more tired than I thought.

Quatre notices though, damn him, and his tired aqua eyes fill with pain.

"Duo…" he whispers. "I’m…I’m sorry, Duo. It’s my fault that…that you almost…lost him again," he finishes brokenly.

I shake my head wearily. "No, Q, it isn’t," I say firmly. I really don’t want to have this conversation here and now, but it’s obvious that the Q-man’s been beating himself up over this for far too long already. "Everything I did was my own decision. You didn’t _make_ me do anything."

"But you would have left. I made you…"

"I wouldn’t have just left," I interrupt. "I would have lost my temper and so I’d have been done quicker, but I never planned to make it neat and easy for him."

Quatre shakes his head. "It was my idea…God, Duo, those things we did…it was all my…"

"Don’t, Quatre," I interrupt, more harshly this time. "Don’t go there. Just…don’t. I know…I know it wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t…well, it wasn’t our finest hour. But some things…some things just have to be done. So we have to accept what we did, and move on."

"What exactly did you do?" I turn my head, and see Wufei regarding us with a calm curiosity in his dark eyes. I glance over and see the same expression in Heero’s steady blue eyes. I feel a sudden surge of irritation.

"What, you want a detailed accounting now?" I snap.

Wufei is silent for a moment, his calm gaze never wavering. "I want to know what happened," he said finally. "It involved you and Quatre, and it almost led to your death. And," he finishes slowly, "it obviously bothers you both a good deal. We want to…share it with you."

"You don’t have to," I say roughly. "It’s not yours. It’s ours. It doesn’t concern you, and…"

"But it concerns me."

I turn, startled, to the source of that voice and see that Trowa’s eyes are open, staring at me. I stare back, caught between relief that he’s awake and chagrin that he’d overheard this particular piece of conversation.

"Trowa," I say lamely. "How…how are you? Do you feel…"

"I’m fine," he interrupts. "Answer Wufei’s question, Duo. What happened on that colony?"

"I…You need to rest. The doctor said not to…"

He interrupts again, this time to suggest a rather biological activity that the doctor could engage in. "Tell me," he repeats urgently.

I stare at him for a moment. Despite his insistence that he is ready to hear this, I know he isn’t, really. His features are tight and drawn, he’s still got a faint flush of fever across his pale cheeks, and those impossibly green eyes are clouded and fogged from fever and exhaustion. He’s not going to let up. But I have to try.

"Trowa," I begin hesitantly. "We will tell you. You’re right, you deserve to know. All of you," I concede, glancing briefly at Wufei. "But now…you need to rest now, Trowa and…"

"Tell me, Duo." His voice is implacable.

I sigh. I glance at Quatre, and see the trepidation in his gaze. Fat lot of help he’s going to be.

In slow, halting sentences, I describe what went on during that interminable hour. I explain, in as clinical a manner as possible, how I disarmed Barton, shooting away the fingers that held the gun trained on us. I relate how we ‘convinced’ him to take us to where he’d held Trowa. I try to gloss over details, injuries inflicted, instruments employed, but Trowa won’t let me. Every time I am less than specific, he interrupts, in a flat monotone, insisting on more clarification. I stare at him the whole time, silently pleading for…something. Acceptance, forgiveness, understanding…I don’t know what. But I don’t get it. Early on in my recitation his gaze moves from my face and fixes on a point at the edge of his bed. He never looks away from it, even when he’s talking to me, asking me questions, demanding more answers. He never looks at me.

Finally, the tale winds down. Halting, I relate the part noone but me has heard. I tell them all of Barton’s death, of my attempt to escape. For the benefit of the rest, I repeat what I hold Heero, telling them how I escaped death and made it back to the base.

And then there is silence. Noone speaks. Noone makes a sound.

I glance around. Heero and Wufei both wear almost identical expressions. They’re analyzing the new data, trying to formulate conclusions. I shake my head at them. Sometimes I think that they’ve spent too much time working on and with computers and Gundams. Their own thought processes have come to mirror machines.

Quatre stares at the floor. He’s had to come face-to-face with the violent side of his own nature, a side that he tries to squelch, to hide, to deny even exists. I have the feeling that this experience is bringing all sorts of unresolved issues to the forefront for him.

Trowa’s eyes closed tightly during the last part of my speech, when I described how Barton finally died. He hasn’t moved since I stopped talking. With his eyes closed, I can’t tell what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling. Is he angry? Disgusted?

Abruptly his eyes open. He still doesn’t look at me, still stares at the edge of the bed.

"Why?" he asks flatly.

I blink. Rather broad question there, Tro.

"Because…he deserved to suffer," I venture. "He didn’t deserve an easy end."

He grimaces slightly, and waves one hand in irritation. Ok, guess I didn’t hit the right ‘why.’ You’ll have to be more specific, Trowa.

"Why?" he repeats.

I’m not answering this time.

I don’t know what he’s asking.

Why.

Why did we torture Barton?

Why didn’t we get out more quickly?

Why do birds suddenly appear every time you are near?

Why _what_?

At my continued silence he glances up, almost making eye contact.

"Why you and Quatre?" he asks, managing to both clarify the question and confuse me even more.

"Because, Trowa," Quatre bursts in. He seems pleased to finally know the right answer. "Duo and I have both…loved you. We knew how horrible a thing Barton was doing to hurt _you_ , of all people, the way he did. We knew he had to be punished."

"Loved me," he repeats flatly, glancing up.

Even though he’s staring at Quatre, I see the expression in his eyes. They’re flat. Expressionless. Empty.

Uh-oh.

That’s not good.

Red alert.

Danger, Will Robinson!

Quatre, still trying to expiate his guilt, doesn’t pick up on the curious blankness in Trowa’s eyes.

That’s the main flaw in Quatre’s empathic armor. He’s usually very good at picking up on emotional cues from other people. He can read them, understand what they’re feeling, where they’re coming from and what they need. He then can react in the way they need him to, knowing what that need _is_ based on the cues that they feed him. He’s been this way so long that that automatic emotional adjustment has become instinctive. He doesn’t even need to think about it.

But when he’s experiencing emotional turmoil himself, it seems to block those signals he’s so accustomed to getting. He doesn’t pick up on those emotions around him, because his own are so abnormally enhanced. He doesn’t realize that, though. And he’s so accustomed to automatically acting in the appropriate fashion that he doesn’t even realize that his normal behavior is based on signals he gets from others, signals that he just doesn’t receive when he’s extraordinarily upset himself. So at those times, he doesn’t realize that he’s behaving based on his own emotions, not the emotions of those around him.

And I’ve found over the years that there is noone more thoughtless than an empath who is suddenly getting only his own emotional messages. Most of us are accustomed to trying to feel our way through sticky situations, and are aware - even if we don’t care - when we’re acting in a basically self-focused way. Quatre isn’t. He doesn’t even begin to realize it. So that’s how the most sensitive person that I’ve ever met can occasionally be the most clueless dork on the planet. Or off the planet, as the case may be.

And that’s how he missed the danger hanging in those two little words.

"Yes, Trowa," he insists, staring earnestly into Trowa’s eyes. "We know how gentle you are, how loving. We both know what…what you have to offer a lover. So when Barton abused that, hurt you…he had to die."

I close my eyes briefly. That’s got to get the award for Most Clueless Remark of the Year. I know exactly what Quatre was trying to say. And I know exactly how Trowa is going to interpret it.

"I see," Trowa says, right on cue. I wince as I hear the flatness in his tone, opening my eyes to look at his strangely impassive face as he continues. "So, not only did Barton invade your playground without permission, he damaged it in the process. That’s why he had to die - so he would learn that noone can break your toys and get away with it?"

Ouch. Worse than I thought.

" _No_ , Trowa!" Quatre protests, horrified. "That’s not it at all! I meant…"

"Good work protecting your territory," Trowa continues relentlessly. "But you should be reminded that this particular playground had been declared off limits to you both anyway, so sadly the effort was wasted, unless of course you plan to play without permission…"

"Shut your damn mouth!" I shout, my angry command mixing with Quatre’s cry of pained protest. "How could you even say that?" I demand. " _Why_ would you say that? Ok, so you’ve been mad at me a long time - but what did Quatre do to deserve that?"

He closes his eyes and I see him begin to tremble. Damn! Silently, I curse myself. Did I listen to a single word that the doctor said to me? I know he’s not really able to be having these conversations. I know he’s in a weakened condition, and isn’t himself. Why can’t I adjust for that? Why can’t I seem to do any of this right? I glance to the side and see Quatre’s stricken face staring back at me, appalled at how his words have been interpreted. I shake my head at him, trying to reassure him that this isn’t his fault.

"Trowa," I say more gently, "It wasn’t like that, and you know it. Q and I went because we’ve been the closest to you. You’ve shared more of yourself with us, so we could understand better exactly how deeply Barton hurt you. So…it was…our right. _Our_ right to get your revenge for you."

"I didn’t want…" he begins, his voice very soft.

"Revenge?" I finish for him, frowning. I know Trowa very well, and know that he can be generous, but he’s certainly not that altruistic. None of us are, really. Not even Quatre. Maybe especially not Quatre. "Trowa, of course you did. It’s ok to want…"

"No," he breaks in more loudly. "I didn’t want…I didn’t want any of you…involved."

"Involved?" I repeat, surprised. "Of course, we’re involved, Tro, we…"

"I didn’t want you involved with him!" he insists, almost shouting. "I didn’t want any of you to know…to see…I didn’t even want you near him. God, I tried, I really….tried…" Suddenly, his voice has turned pleading, begging for understanding, belief, forgiveness. "I tried to keep you all away, Duo, I really did, I wanted to, I…"

"Trowa." He’s got to calm down. I move closer to him, bending down so that my face is close to his. I feel a hand on my back and a form bending beside me, and I know it’s Heero. "Trowa. Listen to me. You did what you needed to do. You warned us. You protected us. Then we just returned the favor. We had to eliminate him, to protect you."

His eyes open, and move from my face to Heero’s. "Heero," he whispers. "I told you…you failed. I told you that…it…was your fault. But it was _mine_. I tried, but I couldn’t…keep it…him…from touching all of you."

"You did try," Heero agrees calmly. "But you shouldn’t have."

Surprise flickers in Trowa’s eyes. "But I had to," he insists. His face is flushed again. The fever is back up. "I had to keep it from…"

"No," Heero disagrees softly. "It had already touched us, because it touched you." He’s silent for a moment. "Anything that touches one of us touches all of us, Trowa. You should know that. You are not alone. You don’t have to stand alone."

Trowa’s eyes stare up at us in confusion for a moment, then begin to slowly flutter closed.

"I…I can’t…" he mumbles.

"Yes, you can," Heero disagrees quietly.

"No," he mutters, trying to force his eyes open. "You don’t understand. I can’t let you all be…"

Whatever he can’t allow now is lost as his exhaustion overtakes him.

I turn to stare at Heero, and realize that he’s the focus of everyone’s attention.

"That was…well expressed, Yuy," Wufei says after a moment.

"I’m….I’m sorry," Quatre says helplessly. "I didn’t mean to upset him. I don’t know what…I don’t know what I’m doing," he admits woefully.

"I think you two need to talk," I say, looking meaningfully back and forth between Wufei and Quatre.

Heero nods. "So do we," he adds unexpectedly, staring at me.

"Why don’t you two go get some food or rest and have your talk," Wufei offers. "You’ve been here for more than a full day. You need a change of scenery."

God, was it only yesterday that we all got back? It seems like years have passed, and yet nothing at all has been resolved.

"Quatre and I will talk here," Wufei finishes seriously, softening his sober words by smiling gently at his lover.

I’m about to protest when Heero mutters thanks to Wufei, grabs me by the wrist, and drags me out of the room.

I guess this is the new, improved, in-touch-with-his-emotions Heero Yuy.

I hope I can keep up.

_______________________________________________

I’m drawn to awareness by a soft chuckle, and the feel of a warm body pressing close up against my side.

I open my eyes, and see Duo’s violet eyes smirking down at me.

"We have _got_ to have more conversations like this, Hee-chan," he drawls.

I flush, closing my eyes again. I briefly wonder if I will ever be able to sleep with Duo without this nagging, lingering feeling of guilt afterwards.

I immediately squelch that pessimistic, petty little mental complaint. Okay, so once again I’ve slept with Duo, while Trowa languishes in severe emotional and physical pain. What’s to feel guilty about, right?

But I…I couldn’t help it. I intended to talk to him - we need to sort out what we all want, what we expect…what we need from each other. I just don’t think it’s logical for Duo and I to approach Trowa - who is, at the moment, the most fragile of us all - without a clear idea of what is going on amongst ourselves. So I wanted to talk about it, ask him…discuss.

But then, suddenly, we were here, in his room, alone, seated on the bed to talk…and I had to touch him. I had to be sure that he was real. The overwhelming loss I had felt when I believed him dead welled up again…and I needed to reassure myself that it really was over, that he really is okay, that he’s here, alive, with me. So I jumped him.

Our lovemaking was as hard and furious as it ever has been, missing the tenderness of the kiss that we shared yesterday, together in the hospital bed with Trowa. Like in the weeks before the battle, our joining was an affirmation of life, a physical denial and rebellion against pain, loss and death. And it was good. Passionate. Satisfying. Vital. Alive.

But suddenly, it’s no longer enough. I open my eyes again and stare into the laughing violet orbs still smiling down at me, and I want more. I want the Duo who sat for hours by Trowa’s bed and watched him sleep, slowly running his fingers through the unconscious man’s auburn hair. I want the Duo that spoke through the pages of his letter to Trowa, and the one that I have glimpsed many times over the years when I spied him in a private moment with Trowa. I want the Duo that kissed me so gently.

I want Duo to _love_ me, not just need or want me.

And suddenly, wrenchingly, I don’t know if he does.

I mean, I made my assertion to each him when he made his miraculous return from the dead, and he said he was happy to hear it... But…that was a very charged experience, and in the heat of the moment, he may have gotten carried away.

Duo never lies. But he could change his mind.

My doubt must somehow show in my eyes or on my face, because the smile slides from Duo’s lips, and he frowns down at me.

"What’s the matter, Heero?" he asks quietly. He doesn’t call me by some silly nickname or diminutive, so I know that he’s serious.

I guess I’m learning to speak Duo.

"I…" I stop. I hate this kind of conversation. Some of my earliest mission orders ever came from Odin, when he ordered me to always follow my emotions. I’m trying to follow those orders now, after years of ignoring them. He never told me to _talk_ about my emotions, though. And I don’t like to.

Duo pulls away as I flounder for the right words and pulls himself into a seated position, wrapping the sheet around his hips. He reaches behind him, and quickly begins straightening his loosened hair, arranging it back in its normal plait.

I lean forward and grab his wrist, arresting the motion. "Don’t," I urge, and wince inwardly at the desperate note in my voice. "Don’t braid your hair."

I’m painfully aware of how idiotic I sound. I fervently hope that he doesn’t ask me _why_ I don’t want him to braid his hair, because I have absolutely no logical reason for asking him to leave it down. I just…somehow I feel that his hair is another wall, another protection against people. And just for a few minutes, I don’t want there to be walls between me and Duo. If he wants to re-erect them later, so be it. But I want my chance.

Fortunately, he doesn’t ask me why. He just shakes his head slowly, disarranging the few locks he had already braided, and looks expectantly at me. Apparently, I am supposed to begin this conversation. Great.

"I…I thought we should…talk…about…well, about…things…before Trowa wakes up."

Good, Heero. Smooth. Talk about ‘things.’ You spend three years married to the world’s foremost orator, and you can’t even construct a sentence with a clear direct object.

"Things," Duo repeats. His voice is totally without inflection. I hate that. It’s confusing enough when Trowa does it, or the occasions when Wufei manages it, but it’s completely alien in Duo.

I sigh. He’s not going to make this easy.

"About…what we’re going to do."

Better. Still weak, but better.

"About what?"

I half-glare at him. Now I know he’s being deliberately obtuse. My glare fades as another idea occurs to me. Maybe…maybe he’s just being that way because he wants to let me down easy. Maybe he doesn’t want me, and he’s searching for a way to tell me.

I feel a blank expression slide over my face as my own walls start to raise again. This was a bad idea. It’s not working. It’s…

"Stop it," he says suddenly, startling me. "If I can’t braid my hair, you can’t wear your Perfect Soldier face."

I nod shortly, but the tenseness doesn’t leave me. I am more unsure than I ever have been. I don’t know how to go about this.

"Can I ask you a question?" Duo asks abruptly.

I nod slowly.

"Why did you marry Relena?"

I blink. That wasn’t the question I was expecting.

"I…thought I should want to," I answer slowly. "She wanted me to. She said that our marriage would help foster world peace. That it would bring together the army and the aristocracy and help everyone adjust." I pause. That isn’t all. It isn’t even the real reason. "And…she said she loved me."

Duo stares at me intently, his eyes completely serious, none of his usual mischief evident. "Did you love her? _Do_ you love her?" he amends before I can answer.

I shake my head quickly. "I don’t," I assure him vehemently. "And I…I don’t think I ever did. I wanted to," I admit. "But she said she loved me. And that was…" I trail off.

"It was what?" he asks quietly.

I shrug, feeling kind of embarrassed to be revealing the pathetic neediness of my seventeen-year-old psyche. Of course, my twenty-one year old psyche isn’t much better. "It was enough," I finish finally. "Noone had ever said that to me before. I wanted…to be with someone who felt that way about me."

He nods slowly. I stare at him, relieved at what I see in his eyes. Understanding, not pity. Empathy, not sympathy.

"So, why’d you leave her?" he continues.

I sigh again. I really don’t want to be on this track, but I messed up my opportunity to be conversational leader, so…

"She didn’t love me," I tell him shortly. "She never did love _me_. She loved the guy I was in her imagination, not the one I am in real life. After we got married she figured out that I wasn’t who she thought I was. She tried to make me over in that image, but it didn’t work. So, eventually…she hated me. Hates me," I amend, shrugging slightly, trying not to show how that bothers me. It shouldn’t bother me. I don’t love her. I don’t want to be with her. But…I don’t want her to hate me.

"So, what do you want now?"

I stare mutely at him. Too broad, Duo. I need simpler questions, ones with more concise answers.

After a moment of silence he sighs, and leans back, bracing his weight on one hand that rests behind him on the bed.

"Well, you told me some stuff, so I guess I’ll reciprocate," he says finally. "I was relieved when you married Relena."

That’s not what I expected to hear. I stare at him in mute surprise as he continues.

"I was relieved, because it made a decision for me. You were - are - one of my best friends. I relied on you, I trusted you, I liked hanging out with you. I was also incredibly fucking attracted to you."

He’s just full of surprises today, isn’t he?

"I lusted after you. I had dreams about you. But…"

There’s always a ‘but.’

"But…I felt the same damn way about Trowa. And I couldn’t…I couldn’t figure out how I could feel that way about two people at the same time. There’s only one person for everybody, right?"

He shakes his head disdainfully, but I’m not sure whom the scorn is directed at.

"So, when you married Relena, I figured that you loved her, and that my feelings for you were based on our friendship and my admiration for you." Duo chuckles. "A little case of Heero Worship, pardon the pun. I mean, you were always perfect - how could anyone not want you a little?"

I’m going to have to do some serious work eliminating that ‘perfect’ thing.

"So anyway, I decided that my feelings for Trowa were the genuine ones, that I’d just had a crush on you, and that everything had worked out for the best. I hooked up with Trowa at your wedding reception, and everything was nice and neat for everyone."

At my wedding reception. That has _always_ rankled.

"And it _was_ great," Duo continues. "I…I _love_ Trowa. For three years, I have been happy with him. _Very_ happy. I never, ever, want to be without him."

So here’s the ‘but.’ You’re an okay guy, Heero, I like you, but Trowa’s my soulmate.

"But I guess…it wasn’t as perfect as it seemed…even to us. I mean…look at all the stuff we never discussed about ourselves," he points out. "There were a lot of things we just didn’t acknowledge. I’ve been trying to figure out for the last couple of months why that was. And I think I know."

He pauses dramatically, and stares at me expectantly. I stare back, gaping at him like a fish on the hook. _I_ don’t know the answer, Duo, I’m listening to the story.

"It was you," he says quietly. "We, Trowa and I, love each other. But I always have had these feelings for you. And I think," he says quietly, "I think he has them too. I think we were both always aware of that, and it made us a little tentative with each other. We felt a little guilty. And a little unsure. I mean, how could our relationship be permanent, if we felt that way for someone else? For you," he clarifies, smiling at me.

"Feelings," I repeat stupidly, honing in on the one word I really want clarified.

Duo smiles more widely. He leans closer to me, grasping my chin tightly, ensuring that my eyes meet his.

"I love you, Heero," he says slowly, his voice clear, his gaze never leaving mine. "I always have. I tried to convince myself I didn’t, but it never really worked. I love Trowa, but I love you too."

Duo never lies. I stare into the very sincere violet eyes bare inches from mine, feeling a small, idiotic smile spread over my face.

He smiles back.

"I…I do too," I stammer.

The smile widens, becoming Duo’s normal grin.

"You do what?" he inquires wickedly.

"I love you too," I manage.

"That wasn’t so hard, was it?" he teases.

"Yeah it was," I contradict flatly.

He laughs, and closes the few inches between us. His lips meet mine, and he kisses me like he has only once before - gently, with tenderness…with love.

After a few moments he pulls away, and leans back on the disordered pillows, pulling me down with him.

"So," he says, breaking the silence. "Now what?"

"Um…," I suggest helpfully.

"I love Trowa," he reminds me softly. "I spent a long time agonizing over this ‘you can’t love two people’ rule. I’ve decided it’s crap."

I grin. Of course he did. Thousands of years of societal movement toward monogamy mean nothing when Duo Maxwell makes up his mind.

"I love you both," he reaffirms. "I want to be with you both. Is that something you want?"

I’m silent for a moment. "When I was married to Relena, I was…I was jealous of you and Trowa," I tell him. "You were so…great together. Happy. Loving. I wanted to be part of that. I wanted to be with you _and_ Trowa - not you _or_ Trowa. So I guess…I guess I’ve always wanted that."

He pulls away a little, so he can look down at my face. "Are you serious?" he demands.

I nod.

"You have feelings for Trowa?"

"You know how everyone always says I’m perfect?" I ask. "Well," I continue at his answering nod, "Trowa is exactly like I’ve always wanted to be. He’s much braver than me, he’s more focused, he’s…"

" _Noone_ is more focused than you," Duo interrupts. He grins at me for a moment, then grows serious. "I know that’s how Trowa appears," he tells me seriously. "But the last few months have shown all of us, I think, that that’s not all there is to him. There’s more than…"

"I don’t just respect his soldier side," I interrupt. "He’s…I saw how he got the circus their permanent location. I…I know that he’s legal co-guardian of Mariemaya, with Une." I see the faint start as I reveal my knowledge of that very closely-guarded secret. Une wanted to ensure that, in the event of her own death, the girl would be taken care of, but didn’t want either Mariemaya or Trowa put in a hazardous or awkward situation if the word got out. Not a few people - Relena included - would be seriously ticked if they knew that Une had trusted Trowa over them with the care of one of the most important people in the world. But it had to be Trowa. Mariemaya herself, rather understandably, trusts almost noone. She loves Trowa, though.

I grin at a sudden memory. "I _loved_ the time he told all the guests at one of Relena’s parties that she had made the croquettes, and was too modest to tell anyone, so they were all complimenting her on her ‘cook’ (wink, wink, nudge, nudge) and she had no clue what they were all talking about. And…"

"Ok," Duo interrupts, laughing. "I just thought this might be the hard sell. I’m glad that…"

"Well, you said it," I interrupt. "In your letter. Not two parts to make the whole, but three. How could you feel that way, and I not feel the same?" I ask softly.

He smiles, and touches his lips briefly to mine.

"Now," he says briskly, settling back on the pillows. "Trowa is the most stubborn individual ever born. He’s convinced that two’s company, three’s a crowd, no exceptions. How do we talk to him, without him shutting down and refusing to listen?"

I feel a familiar glow of excitement as I settle back and begin to plot out a strategy with Duo.

Mission accepted.

The stakes are as high as they have ever been.

I will not fail.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> by Shoori

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from Dacia, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [A Little Piece of Gundam Wing](https://fanlore.org/wiki/A_Little_Piece_Of_Gundam_Wing), which closed in 2017. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after July 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [a little piece of gundam wing collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/alittlepieceofgundamwing/profile).

I sigh, glancing at my watch. I've been in this room for over twelve hours. I can't imagine where Duo and Heero are. When I sent Quatre back to our room four hours ago, I'd figured I'd be joining him any time. But Maxwell and Yuy still haven't returned.

Well, they did say that they had to ‘talk.' And neither of them had slept in days. And, being themselves, they doubtless had other activities to engage in…

I push away the thought before it can start to make me angry. If they have engaged in the activity I suspect, I suppose I really can't blame them. If I thought I'd lost Quatre, I would have to touch him to confirm that he were there. But, really…those two have the most inappropriate timing that I have ever encountered.

I glance at the silent form on the bed, wondering what his reaction would be were he to suspect that Duo and Heero were having sex on another part of the base. Since he's still unconscious it's not really an issue, but I feel myself wince at the mere thought.

I scowl, and force myself up and out of the chair, suppressing a groan as sore, tired muscles, stiffened from many hours in the same position, protest the sudden movement. I must be more tired than I realized, to be thinking such frivolous thoughts.

I wish Maxwell and Yuy would hurry up and get down here. I'm tired. And I'm worried about Quatre. We had a long discussion about everything that had happened recently. We were able to say a lot of things that needed saying; I was even able to explain to him why I was so cold to him after the explosion of Barton's colony base. But he's still a long way from all right…and I don't want him to be alone. I want to be near him, in case he needs me.

But Trowa can't be alone, either.

Trowa.

I move closer to the bed, and stare down at him. In the past few hours, his heartbeat has become a little faster, grown stronger and steadier. The nurses who bustle in and out every hour or so have informed me that his fever has gone down, and that he's resting easily. I wanted to suggest that they undo the damned monitors then, since they're incessant beeping has been slowly driving me crazy, but I managed to refrain.

Looking down, I see that he does look better. The almost transparent quality to his skin that had given him such a fragile, unearthly appearance is gone. He is still very pale, so thin as to be gaunt, and, even asleep, seems unbearably weary, but he looks… Well, he looks like someone who's ill and badly hurt, but who's going to be all right.

I feel intense relief. All of the sudden and frightening set-backs in the last few days had had me more worried than I cared to admit. We've all been hurt before, sometimes so badly as to be unconscious for days and weeks, but once we wake up, we're usually fine. Seeing Trowa suspended so precariously between life and death was nerve-wracking, to say the least.

I never realized, until all this, how…how much all of my friends…how important they all are to me. When I believed Trowa dead…and thought Duo was gone…it was as though I too had died. Their absence opened great, gaping holes in my soul that I think would never have been filled. The emptiness disappeared with their return, of course, but the temporary presence of that emptiness made me aware of its potential for existence. It made me aware of how deep my feelings go for all of them.

I stare at Trowa, thinking of all of the confusion and hurt and suffering hidden beneath that slumbering facade. In becoming aware of the bond between us, I also realized the potential we all have to hurt each other, and ourselves. I hope…I hope that the…situation…between Trowa and Heero and Duo can be resolved. If it isn't…it won't just affect them. It will affect us all, hurt us all. None of us can be complete until _all_ of us are complete.

I didn't know that, really, until Duo returned from the dead. I wonder if Trowa knows it. I hope…I hope he realizes it, before it is too late.

I turn away and pace around the room, trying to work some of the stiffness out of my limbs. There's not much of anywhere to walk, and I have to be careful not to crash into the machinery and equipment and furniture, but if I don't get some sort of exercise I'm going to go stark, raving mad.

All thoughts of confinement, exercise and cabin fever are driven from my mind, though, at a sound from the other occupant of the room. The sound is soft and muted, a cross between a gasp and a groan, and even as I whirl to stare at the bed, I wonder if I imagined it.

I didn't, though. Trowa's green eyes are open, though crinkled at the corners from the effort he's expending trying to push himself into a sitting position.

"Trowa!" I cry out, speeding to his bedside.

He glances up and acknowledges my presence with a nod and a grunt, continuing to try to push himself up on shaking arms.

I remember what Dr. Rushton said, about how weak Trowa would be, about how much pain any movement would cause him, and I try to interfere.

"I'm glad you're awake," I say simply. "But you shouldn't move. The doctor said that when you wake up you should remain lying down on your…"

"Bullshit," Trowa interrupts clearly, bracing himself on one elbow to rest. "The hell with that. I'm not lying here on my face like some kind of…"

Apparently he can't think of any disgraceful creature that spends its time lying prone, because he abandons his declaration and begins pushing himself upward again. This time he can't hold back a grimace of pain. When I see it cross his features, I reach out, determined to assist him.

"At least let me help," I insist, resigned to the fact that he isn't going to obey doctor's orders.

"I don't need help," he snarls, trying to pull away. He can't do much, though, or he risks losing his balance completely, and he knows it.

"Bullshit," I reply calmly, repeating his phrase back to him. He glares at me through the shock of auburn hair falling over his face, but I ignore his displeasure and help him lift himself up and around, so that he's sitting upright in the bed. He leans back, and immediately tenses as his injured back comes in contact with the frame of the bed. Without comment I help him move forward, and arrange some pillows so that they will help hold him upright while touching his back as little as possible. It must still hurt, but less than before. That's the best that we can do.

He accepts my assistance in tight-lipped silence, and even manages to mumble a few words of thanks when I'm finished. I nod and step back, regarding him silently.

He glances up at me but looks quickly away, his gaze moving to the wires in his arms. With a scowl, he begins pulling the needles and straps away.

I have to protest. "Trowa…those need to be there. You shouldn't…"

He looks steadily at me, and my protests dies away. He methodically removes the needles and wires from his arms and chest, starting with the monitoring devices. I feel a nagging relief as I move and shut off the protesting monitors. However, I step forward and place my hand over his before he can pull out the final needle, stilling his movements.

"Leave that one," I say quietly. That one controls the drip of the medication that controls pain, keeping the full impact of Trowa's injuries from flooding his body all at once.

"I don't want it," he says flatly. "I can't think with it. I need to…"

"You need to get better, Trowa," I tell him quietly. "You won't, if you push yourself."

He stares at me almost angrily for a moment, then shrugs slightly and drops his hand away from his arm. His eyes fall to his blankets and I step away somewhat awkwardly, suddenly unsure of what to say to him.

"How do you feel?" I ask after a moment.

"Fine," he says briefly.

I sigh in exasperation. "Liar," I say flatly.

He looks up, and a trace of a smile lingers on his mouth for an instant. "Better," he amends.

I nod.

"Where's Quatre?" he asks after a moment.

"Getting some sleep," I tell him. "So are the others," I add. "They should be here soon."

A closed-off, shuttered look descends on his face, and he looks away from me again.

I feel my own lips tighten. Injured or no, Trowa must begin to think and act rationally. He can't, after all that we have all endured, still be planning to hold on to his grudge, as justified as it may have been at the outset.

"They should be here soon, and then you and they can talk," I expand meaningfully.

His lips tighten again in a wry grimace.

"Trowa, you must not do this," I declare firmly.

He looks up, startled.

I respond to the unasked question. "You must talk to them," I insist. "You must…forgive them. And go on. What is the use of holding on to old hurts?"

"Old hurts…" he repeats hollowly. He's silent for so long that I almost decide to press him when he speaks again. "Sometimes old hurts can't be let go, Wufei."

Well, that remark decidedly took the wind out of my sails. I know, of course, that he isn't talking about Duo and Heero anymore.

I close my eyes briefly, then move the chair over to his bedside. I can't loom over him for this conversation.

"Trowa…I know…I know what you have suffered. And…"

"No, you don't, Wufei," he interrupts angrily. "You don't know."

"I have never received injuries like those on your back," I admit. "But I know…"

"The Hell with my back!" he almost shouts. "That's not what I'm talking about…"

"I know," I interrupt, loudly.

Now its _my_ turn to deflate _his_ sails. "What do you mean, you know?" he asks weakly.

"I know…I know what you consider to be your great shame," I tell him slowly. "And I know…what it is to feel that shame."

He looks stunned. His eyes are wide and troubled as they stare into mine. "What….who?" he asks slowly, his confusion as to whether he is correctly interpreting what I'm telling him still obvious.

I take a deep breath. I have never discussed this with anyone but Quatre, and I didn't even really want to tell him about it. I'm not sure if it's a good idea to be talking about this topic with Trowa right now. But…he is not alone. He needs to know it, needs to know that, despite what has happened to him, he is not unworthy.

"Treize," I say simply.

He starts in amazement, a look of anger sweeping across his face, even as his pale skin reddens with indignation.

"Treize?" he repeats.

I jerk my head once in affirmation.

He swears softly under his breath, his expression turning murderous. "When?" he demands. "How?"

"After…New Edwards," I tell him, unable to hold back a wince at the thought of that disastrous mission. To this day, the fiasco at that base still haunts us all.

"After New Edwards?" he repeats, frowning. "But…you said you lost a duel…"

"I did," I confirm. "And once I was out of my Gundam, disarmed, powerless…" I trail off, shrugging, not really wanting to explain in much more detail.

Trowa swears again, then whitens as something strikes him. "Wufei!" he gasps. "I was _there_! I was right there, in the water and…"

"Fighting off twenty or thirty Cancer suits," I point out. "There was nothing you could have done."

"And after, when we went back to the circus, I didn't…"

"How should you have known?" I ask reasonably. "You only met me that day. You couldn't know. I didn't want you to know," I admit

"I should have…"

"Why?" I demand, suddenly feeling impatient. "Why should _you_ always be held to a higher standard than the rest of us?" He stares mutely at me, his face uncomprehending. "Why should you have to know everything, and react properly? Why should every one of us have the right to be happy and protected _except_ for you?" I'm starting to feel angry. "Why do _you_ have to get in the way of shots meant for Heero? Why do _you_ have to infiltrate the rebellion army to keep me from destroying myself? Why do _you_ have to surrender yourself to your greatest enemy in order to keep the rest of us safe?"

He stares at me, unspeaking, his expression unguarded, shaken into relaxing by my unexpected onslaught.

I sigh, feeling my sudden anger subside. "I know why," I say tiredly. "You do all of that for the same reason that Heero knocked Duo out and risked his hatred rather than let him fight, and for the same reason Quatre and Duo risked themselves on that colony to destroy Barton for you. We risk ourselves to save each other. We all do. We _all_ ," I state with absolute confidence, "would risk anything to protect the others. And you have risked - and almost lost - everything to save us. We would all do the same for you. So _why_ ," I demand, "do you continue to believe yourself so unimportant to us?"

His eyes close, but not before I see the pain within them. "Wufei…" he chokes, obviously speaking with difficulty. "I can't…I only…defile…all of you…"

"Bullshit," I say again, with relish. I could grow fond of that word. "Listen to me, Trowa," I command. "I have told you of Treize, but I haven't told you everything." I force him to look at me, to listen, as I pour out the whole sordid story. The first brief, painful encounters, that grew to longer liaisons and nights of passion. I reveal to him this secret I had only ever told to one person before.

"Am I unworthy?" I demand roughly. "I hated every moment I spent with Treize, every single thing I did with him. But I was there. Those things happened, and I can't change it. I spent years trying to hide from it, from all of you. I cut myself off from you all, believing that I soiled you with my presence. Is that true, Trowa?" I demand roughly. "Am I unworthy of your friendship? Am I unworthy of Quatre's love?" I press relentlessly, ignoring his weak protests. "Do I defile him with my touch? Should I leave him to save him from me? _Should I_?" I demand.

"No!" he shouts, cutting me off. "God, Wufei, of course not. Of _course_ not."

I nod arrogantly, accepting his reassurance. I am conscious, though, of a feeling of intense relief. It was, somehow, very important that I hear those words from Trowa.

"So if _I_ am not unworthy, why are you?" I ask quietly, staring at him.

He closes his eyes again, but I see the struggle written on his face. I am perhaps being unfair - I know that intellectually he can see the contradiction in logic, but I know as well that it takes more than logic to soothe a wounded spirit. But there has to be a beginning. Healing will take time, but something has to start it.

"I just…I…"

"I know," I say quietly. "I know that when your body is used in such a way, it injures your mind. The memories hurt, Trowa. I know. But…" hesitantly I take his hand, and press it within mine until he opens his eyes and looks at me. "But it doesn't tarnish your _soul_ , Trowa-kun. You are still you, and you are still worthy. Still deserving of love."

I see tears well up in his eyes, but neither look away nor object when he presses his eyelids firmly closed to keep them from spilling over. I certainly will never be the one to encourage anyone to cry. But I am glad that he is able to _feel_ enough to be able to cry.

"Wufei…I…thank you…but…"

"But what?" I demand.

"But…Duo…and Heero…."

Issues within issues within issues. How has this man managed to hold on to his sanity in any measure, with all of the worries and fears that he seems determined to torture himself with?

"What about them?" I ask calmly.

"They…want…each other…" he manages.

"Yes," I agree. "It certainly seems that way."

"So how…"

I sigh. "Look, Trowa, I won't presume to tell you how they feel. All I can tell you is what they do." I think for a moment, think of Duo and Heero and the things that they did that made me believe that, despite their incredibly idiotic and immature behavior, they really did care, and care deeply, and about Trowa.

"When you were gone, and we thought you were dead, they were miserable. Duo didn't even eat, if that tells you anything. And Heero… once I saw him…cry." I nod at Trowa's start of surprise, confirming what I said. "Yes, Heero. Then, when you came back, they never left you alone. One of them, at least, was always there, staring at you, talking to you, willing you to get better."

I lean back. I'm more comfortable with this, this listing off of observable behaviors, than I am with any conversation about emotion.

"At the battle, Duo was determined to destroy Barton - to gain revenge for you, and, he told Une, to help you get better. So you wouldn't have to be afraid again."

I sigh, thinking about those more recent, still tender, hurts. "Then, after we thought he was dead, Heero…Heero thought only of you. I think…I thought at the time that the only reason he was holding himself together was for you," I admit. "He had to get back here, to tell you himself, before you could find out from someone else. He wouldn't even consider having someone else tell you - he needed to do it himself. And…he had to see that you were alive. He was afraid that you would be dead too. That…everything would be gone."

"He didn't say that," Trowa protests.

I frown at that interruption. "He said, and I quote, ‘I need to tell Trowa. I need to _see_ him. I need to make sure that I have…something left.'"

Trowa still looks disbelieving. " _Heero_ said that?" he asks doubtfully.

"He wasn't at his best," I admit. "Anyway…then, since we've been back, both of them were with you constantly until about…thirteen hours ago," I tell him, checking my watch again. "When I threw them both the hell out because they were irritating me."1

Trowa smiles slightly at that, then sighs, and looks down at his blankets.

I echo the sigh. "Look, Trowa," I say awkwardly. "I told you, I can't tell you how they feel. I'm not them. But…they love you. You can _see_ it. Don't…don't deny that. Don't throw it away. It's not a typical arrangement…but…what about our lives is typical?" I question wryly.

He sighs again, and raises one hand to his forehead.

"Are you going to…"

"Wufei," he interrupts, looking over at me. "Thank you," he says, sincerely, staring into my eyes "I…Well, I…you're a good guy," he says awkwardly. "I'm glad…you're here. And that you're with Quatre." I nod, knowing exactly what he's trying to express. "And I…You've given me a lot to…a lot to think about," he admits. "But…I don't know what…" he stops, sighing in frustration.

"You want me to leave you alone," I say, not at all offended.

"Yes," he says, obviously relieved.

I stand up and stare down at him. "You will be all right?" I ask.

He nods.

"You will leave the pain medication in?" I press.

He snorts in amusement, then nods his agreement.

"I consider that your word of honor," I warn.

"Okay," he concedes, throwing me a mock salute.

I smile down at him, then move toward the door. I pause before leaving. "Trowa…" I call. He looks up inquiringly. "As far as I can see, you've all been given two fresh chances," I tell him thoughtfully. I stare into those amazingly green eyes for a moment. "I don't know that you'll get a third. So don't waste them," I advise softly, then let myself out of the room, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

_____________________________________________________

I wish I weren't still so damn tired all the time. I try to suppress my weariness, but can't keep it at bay. Carefully, I lean back on the large inflated cushion the doctor brought when he changed my bandages.

I still feel that burning pain as my back comes in contact with the cushion, but it isn't as bad as when I leaned on the frame of the bed, or even against the pillows. And it's worth the discomfort to be sitting up, rather than lying there flat on my face, unable to see what's going on behind me, or to the side of me, or anywhere but directly horizontal to the side my face is pointing.

I rub my thumb slowly over the papers I hold in my hand. Duo's letter. I've lost count of the times I've read it. For a few days, while they were away, it was all I had holding me to them. Then, for a few horrible hours, I thought that it was all I had left of Duo. Today, I must have read it a thousand more times since Wufei left my room a few hours ago.

I remember my thoughts on my way to XV7889, and the first time I read this letter, and when I thought that Duo had been killed. All three of those times, I wished I had the chance to do things over, to repair things. I told myself that holding onto my hurt was silly, was a waste of time and life.

Then, each time, when the situation was rectified, I didn't act on my earlier instincts. I took refuge again in my hurt, my anger. I continued to push away those that I had so desperately wished I had held closer, when it seemed too late to do so.

I sigh. Although I am incredibly weary, I'm just not sleepy. Thoughts of Duo, and… and Heero whirl around and around in my head.

All those times I wished for another chance to make it right. Then, when the chance came, I threw it away.

And I've been alone here for three hours, and Wufei said they'd been gone a half a day by the time he left.

Maybe they aren't coming.

Maybe I blew my final chance, and they've given up.

But maybe…maybe that's good. I don't know…I don't know if I could let them in. Maybe it's just as well that they aren't giving me another chance to shut them out.

But the thought that they would - that they could - give up on me is suprisingly hurtful.

I don't know why I should be surprised, though. I did it to them, after all.

I open my eyes, and glance down at the letter again, slowly sifting through the pages.

…everyone has another person, another half that completes them and makes them whole. A soulmate… But there's not one other piece needed to make me complete, there's two. You and Heero.

Me and Heero.

I scowl at the paper.

That can't be. It _can't_. That isn't the way these things are done.

He wants Heero, but he doesn't want to hurt me. So he's including me, out of a feeling of obligation.

I stifle a sigh. That's starting to sound a little ridiculous, even to me.

Could it be…that I'm…jealous? That I'm trying to punish him for wanting someone else, for not being satisfied with just me? Am I trying to get back at him for wanting Heero?

Or…am I punishing _myself_ …for the same transgression?

I lift my head and scowl at the ceiling.

That's even more ridiculous. I never thought of such a thing as …Heero…until Duo put the idea in my head.

Well…

A few dreams, a couple of random fantasies…an occasional minor physical reaction to his presence…

But that sort of thing is normal.

Isn't it?

I'm bored with the ceiling, so I redirect my scowl to the door, just in time to see it swing open, revealing none other than Duo himself. I hadn't expected to see him there, so he gets the full force of my scowl, before I force myself to assume a more neutral expression.

His step falters slightly, his grin wavers a bit, but he presses gamely forward, stopping only when he's standing directly next to me, so close that I have to look up a bit to meet his eyes.

"Hi," he says softly.

I nod somewhat stiffly in reply.

He bites his lower lip nervously.

"How are you?" he asks.

I shrug slightly. "Ok," I manage. I'm being cruel; I know I am. I was just chastising myself for this behavior a few minutes ago. But here, under that penetrating violet gaze, I just can't….can't do it. I can't relax. I can't lower the barriers that are separating us.

"Good," he murmurs, seeming at a loss.

I feel a spark of hope that had kindled when he arrived start to fade. This is a duty visit.

"I want to talk to you," he blurts suddenly. "Are you up for it?"

I feel myself stiffen, feel the damaged and abraded muscles and flesh of my back protest as my involuntary tensing causes them to stretch and strain uncomfortably. I manage to nod.

To my surprise, Duo proceeds to seat himself on the side of my bed, rather than in the chair beside it. I tense further, trying to move my legs away, but he stops the movement with one hand, arranging himself so that he's sitting about level with my knees, facing me. I feel my heartbeat quicken as he stares at me.

"Are you still pissed at me?" he asks bluntly.

I blink, surprised at the question. Then I blink again, considering it.

"No," I say finally, hesitantly.

One of his sharply defined brows juts upward. "Really?" he demands.

I nod. "Really," I affirm.

He sighs. "Good," he says, and he sounds relieved. He chews on his lower lip again. He does that when he's nervous. I don't think he knows he does it, and he'd probably deny it if anyone told him, but he does.

"Do you hate me?" he asks, in the same abrupt manner.

"No!" I maintain, certainly more heatedly than I had intended.

His eyes soften somewhat as he stares at me. "Good," he says again, his voice gentler this time.

I can't hold that violet gaze for long so I look away, my own eyes falling nervously to my lap, where I'm fidgeting with the papers I'm holding there.

His gaze follows mine, and he reaches out and carefully, allowing me the opportunity to resist, takes them from my grasp. He ruffles through them, and I see his expression change as he realizes what it is. I'm almost holding my breath as his eyes lift to meet mine again.

"Oh, Trowa," he murmurs softly. "I didn't even know if…I can't believe you're still reading this. I wasn't even sure if you'd finish it the first time."

My tongue moves over my suddenly bone-dry lips in a mostly futile attempt to moisten them. "I…I read it," I tell him inanely.

"What did you…" He stops, inhaling deeply. "Did you…believe it?" he questions hesitantly.

I look away again. I don't know what to say, what to do. I force myself to shrug, and even I can see the negligence, the indifference implied in such a movement. I want to talk to him, want to tell him, want to…I don't know. I want to let the walls down, but I can't. He knows too much, he knows…

"Trowa." His voice is still gentle, but suddenly firm. "Look at me."

I want to. I want to look at him. I want to but I can't, I can't lift my head, my eyes, can't…

I jump, startled, as I feel his fingers on my chin, lifting my face, forcing my gaze to meet his. I tremble at the feeling of his skin on mine, apprehensive at the contact, wanting it to end, while at the same time feeling intensely aware of the warmth of his hand on my skin, the familiar scent of him as he leans closer to me, the swirling depths of his amethyst eyes…

"Tro-chan," he whispers softly, so close to me I can feel his breath as he speaks, "what are you afraid of?"

I reel, faced with a question as powerful as one of the Gundam's weapons, firing round after round into the walls I'd erected to protect myself, destroying barrier after barrier until it reached the small, unprotected area I was huddled inside.

"Duo…" I manage thickly. "Duo, I…" I can't finish the words, can't finish the thought. Blindly, I reach out to him, the one real thing in this…mess…I find myself trapped in.

His hand closes warm and solid over mine, and his other arm goes around me, resting feather-light against my injured back.

That touch, ephemeral as it is, is enough to jerk me out of my incipient hysteria.

"Duo…don't…don't touch it," I choke.

He pulls back slightly so he can see me clearly, but doesn't move either hand.

"Am I hurting you?" he asks softly.

I shrug and shake my head at the same time, indicating both my lack of concern over whether or not it hurts and trying to express that pain is not the issue, not the reason I don't want him anywhere near my back.

"Why can't I touch it, then?" he questions, gently but persistently.

I screw my eyes shut, shaking my head from side to side. The walls are springing up again, like new, intact and impenetrable and…

"Do I make it worse?" he asks. "Do I remind you of…them? Of Barton and…the others?" The question is quiet, but I can hear the hurt in the softly spoken words, and the walls crumble a little.

"No!" I reassure him, my eyes flying open. "Duo, no…you're not…that's why…"

"Are you ashamed of it? Of what happened with Barton, and…whoever else?"

I look down, my stomach twisting with humiliation. I can't stand this, can't bear that he knows about this. I tried so hard, for so long, to keep him from knowing, to hide my past from him…

"Why?" he asks, and suddenly his voice is angry.

I look up, confused.

"Do you think it will change how I feel about you?" he demands. "Did you think I thought you were a lily white virgin the first time you were with me?"

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I don't understand…

"Do you really think I'm shallow enough that I would abandon you or think less of you for what happened in your past?" he presses.

"No!" I insist. "I just…you…"

"You know, there's a lot I've never told you either," he interrupts, his voice losing the edge of anger. "I never…you seemed to want to keep the past in the past, and that was certainly okay with me…" He trails off, and he glances away. "I'm not exactly pure and pristine myself, you know," he continues after a moment.

God, not him too. I can barely stand the thought of Wufei having been hurt by Treize, for Duo to have experienced that as well…

"Do you know what I did after Maxwell Church was destroyed?" he asks.

I stare at him. "Joined the Sweepers…." I venture slowly.

He grunts. "Yeah," he concedes, "Four years later." He shakes his head slowly. "First, I spent a couple of years on the street, doing anything and everything I could to feed my addiction."

"Addiction?" I repeat, bewildered.

He nods. "Yeah. My addiction. To what didn't really matter. Booze, coke, heroin..." He lets out a brief, harsh laugh. "For some reason, heroin is very easy to get on L2. A lot easier to get than food, anyway." He sighs, and pulls away a little, removing his arm from around me and reaching behind his own back to find the end of his braid. "Anyway….I was into some very designer chemicals, and didn't even have enough money to buy bread. I was too small to work, and didn't have anything worth selling…except this," he says, his hand moving in a sweeping gesture from the top of his head along the curve of his torso.

I feel my eyes widen. He's not saying…he wasn't…

"I was a whore," he says flatly. "A prostitute. I'd do anything anyone paid me to do - anyone, male, female, young, old…Anything, no matter how repulsive or perverted, as long as it got me enough money to buy a little escape. A few minutes…away."

I can't stop staring at him.

"How can you think you're unworthy because of something you were forced to do, when…when I did it voluntarily?" By the end of the question his voice is despairing, thick with unsuccessfully repressed emotion.

I look into his eyes and see the humiliation that this confession has revived. My chest aches as I think of the child he was, fiercely independent even then, forced to a point where he could no longer bear the loneliness and loss of his day-to-day existence, choosing to barter away the use of the one thing that belonged to him in order to be able to hold on a little longer, last another day, survive until things somehow got better.

What an ass I am. Wallowing all those years in my own suffering, my own painful past, not stopping to consider that I might not be the only one with deep, still tender scars from a childhood alone.

"Duo…" I begin, only to be cut off immediately.

"Trowa, if you're not ‘good enough' for me, I'm sure as Hell not good enough for you," he interrupts desperately. "You probably deserve more. But I'll be damned if I let you go again," he swears roughly. "I lost you when you left our apartment, and when you wouldn't talk to me at the circus, and when I thought…when I thought you were dead." He closes his eyes, shuddering at the memory. "I won't lose you again," he vows, opening his eyes again to stare into mine, his fingers crushing mine in their fierce grip. "I _can't_ lose you again. I need you. If the past couple of months have proved anything Trowa, it's that. I _love_ you, and I can't let you go again." All of the careful control he exhibited when he came into the room is gone. His words are raw, emotional. He is speaking his heart.

How can I do less?

"Duo…" My throat swells, cutting the words off. I can't get them out, can't get them through the shields, the barriers…I stare at him mutely, into his eyes, and so I see the spark of hope in them flicker and die at my continued silence. His eyes fall and he bows his head, his shoulders drooping in and his fingers relaxing around mine. He's given up. Defeated.

My last chance.

My final opportunity.

I let it go.

Again.

I pushed him away.

Again.

No, damn it! I won't. I _won't_!

"I love you," I blurt, forcing the words out. His head snaps up so quickly that it must have hurt, and the hope I just saw fade away is suddenly back, full force.

"Tro-chan?" he asks quietly, his voice tremulous.

"Duo….I love you," I repeat. It's easier this time. Why did I fight it? I love Duo. I always have, and can't be apart from him. I will be with him until I die. "I love you," I insist. "I do, I…" I break off in consternation as I see the tears run down his pale cheeks. Why is he crying? What did I do?

"I'm sorry, Duo," I apologize almost frantically. "I didn't mean to…I'm sorry I…Please don't cry, I…"

He reaches over to touch my face, wiping his fingers across my cheek, and not until he lifts his hand and I see the moisture glistening on his skin do I realize I'm crying too.

"It's ok, Tro-chan," he whispers. "I'm just…so…glad." The tone of his voice and the look on his face give the simple words the weight of a heartfelt declaration.

I sway slightly, the sudden release of so much tension and repressed emotion making me feel slightly light-headed. He notices, and moves so that he's sitting beside me, and gently tugs me over so that I'm leaning on him. For long moments we just sit there, my head on his shoulder, his arm lightly around me, our fingers twined together. Together.

After a long while, he shifts, pulling away a little. I look up at him, and he tilts my head toward his, and very lightly brushes his lips across mine.

I can't help it. I don't want to ruin our moment, don't want to distance myself from him again. But at the touch of his lips, I stiffen, fighting the urge to push him away.

He feels me tense, and moves of his own accord. "It's ok, Tro-chan," he whispers. "Only what you want, when you want it. No rush. I just…" he smiles slowly down at me, "I just had to kiss you now. I love you," he whispers

I stare up at him. Everything that seemed so simple and clear while we were sitting together a moment ago is suddenly clouding up again, all the problems and obstacles and complications rearing their heads again. If I can't even stand to have him kiss me, how will I ever be able to sleep with him? Can it be fair to him to ask him to wait indefinitely for the physical affection I know he needs to feel secure? And what about…what about…

"Yeah," he says softly, looking into my eyes. "We need to talk about…Heero."


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> by Shoori

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from Dacia, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [A Little Piece of Gundam Wing](https://fanlore.org/wiki/A_Little_Piece_Of_Gundam_Wing), which closed in 2017. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after July 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [a little piece of gundam wing collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/alittlepieceofgundamwing/profile).

Have you ever been outside, on a perfectly nice day, enjoying the sunshine, laying in the grass, not doing anything in particular, and, all of a sudden, find yourself in the middle of a torrential downpour? And then you have to run for cover, sopping wet, water in your ears, wondering how in the hell things went from not a cloud in the sky to flash flood condition in 3.4 seconds?

Well, that's sort of what I feel like right now. Only, weather looks predictable and stable when compared to one Mr. Trowa Barton, circus performer, Gundam Pilot 03, war prisoner and most stubborn person alive.

Now I'm being sort of a jerk. I'm not one to talk. Charitable people call me mercurial. At least, they would if I knew any charitable people. My friends, to my face, call me moody. God knows what they call me behind my back.

But…I've always been like that. The people around me have to, to some extent, be used to my bullshit. Not that it excuses it or makes it any better, but at least it's familiar.

Trowa's not like me. He's always been one of the steadiest people I know. Oh, a few things have always made him go all stoic and withdrawn - his back, bad dreams, talk of the war. But even that - the _same_ things always upset him. And when they did, he always reacted the same way. His very unpredictability was predictable.

And that trait - his steadiness, his sameness, his predictability - was the one thing I needed most in the world. The only thing that's ever been constant in my life was change - change and loss. My life was constantly in flux, constantly turning inside out and upside down, and I never had any control or understanding of what was going on.

But, as long as I've known him, Trowa always did. He always knew what he was doing. He always knew what _I_ was doing, which is no mean feat. He was my anchor, my rock, the only safe haven I've ever had in my life.

And I drove him away. I wanted to die, wanted to kill myself when I realized what I'd done. Wanted to even more when I realized I'd done it on purpose, done it to prove my own perverse fears, my fear that what we had wasn't eternal, that it could fade and die and disappear too.

Then, he really left. Sacrificed himself for the fucking war effort, of all things, and I thought he was never coming back. Well. Not only had I managed to push him away, just to see if I could, then, when I realized how stupid an act that was, it seemed like I never had any hope of getting him back.

I've lost people I loved before. Lots of people - Solo, Father Maxwell, Sister Helen…all the other kids in the gang and in the orphanage - so I wasn't entirely unfamiliar with the way your heart feels when it breaks, the way you feel when you realize you're completely alone in the world.

But it was different this time. On one hand, it was worse. For all that I loved the others, the love I had for them was different - I loved Solo as a brother, Sister Helen and Father Maxwell as a mother and father, the kids as friends. But Trowa…Trowa was my comrade and my brother and my best friend and my lover and my love. He was so much more than anyone else had ever been, that his loss was deeper, more profound, more searing. The moment I finally had to accept that he was dead was the absolute nadir of my life.

On the other hand, this time, I wasn't completely alone. People I cared about were there. I was surrounded by friends. And…there was Heero, who I had to realize and admit was more than a friend.

So, I found that I had to sit down and think about what was going on in my crazy head, which is not something that I like to do often. It interferes with business, is generally depressing, and is not really the sort of thing anyone wants to do on their day off. But, in times of great crisis, all the little problems and fears and bits of pain and sorrow that you've been trying to forget about all wake up and demand immediate attention, because you don't have anything better to do in times of crisis that wade through a muck of repressed emotion, right? It's rather upsetting to realize that your own id and ego are as much a pair of bastards as all the other entities in your life.

So, I thought. I remembered. I wrestled with realizations and thoughts and desires and admitted truths I didn't want to face and made some hard discoveries about myself and the things I'd been doing with my life. It was a real good time. I'd recommend it, if you're ever feeling like you'd like to have the experience of falling off of a gigantic cliff head first, but no cliff is available.

Some of those hard discoveries were about Trowa. As much as I'd loved him, as happy as I was with him, our relationship hadn't gone as deep as you'd think it would have gone in three years. And that, I concluded, is because we'd spent so much time trying to hide things from each other. It was well-intentioned, but deeply detrimental. We didn't want to hurt the other. We didn't want to hurt ourselves by dredging up painful memories. But most of all, we didn't want to run the risk that the other one would be so disgusted by the things we had done in our pasts that he would just up and leave.

What a bunch of bullshit. That's one of the things that I made myself admit. There is nothing that Trowa could tell me about his past that would make me love him less. So why did I continue to believe for so long that my past would drive him away? That worry that we both felt was an insult - an insult to each other and an insult to our love. We were acting like fearful children, not adults that are in a committed, loving relationship.

And then there's Heero. Heero was another of the things that I'd been trying to hide from myself. Not Heero himself, of course…he was always around, not much good trying to hide him…you know what I mean. I was always attracted to him. I thought I shouldn't be, thought it meant that I was being untrue to Trowa, afraid that it meant that I didn't love him the way I wanted to…

Crap. Stupidity. How could I ever have doubted the way I feel for Trowa? When I lost him, I knew how much I love him. Why is it always like that? Why don't people appreciate stuff until they lose it? Why are people dumb?

Let me not get off on that tangent!

But you learn so many rules, growing up…even when you grow up like Trowa and I did, without actual homes or families…And when you spend even just a year or two in a Catholic orphanage, they really get hammered in.

Of course, romantic love Rule Number One is that romantic love happens between men and women.

I didn't have much trouble breaking that one. I rationalized that love knows no gender, if it happens it was meant to be, so on and so forth, happily ever after, Amen.

But Rule Number Two was harder to break, somehow. Love is supposed to happen between _two_ people, reciprocal action, A loves B, B loves A, there you are.

What is the obsession that people have with even numbers? It must come from limbs. Two arms, two legs, two eyes and ears, two hands and feet…What if we'd evolved to have three eyes and five hands? What would the world be like then? Would we all automatically move into exponentially larger romantic groups? Would the menage a trois be the rule, rather then the frowned on exception? Would mating pairs be mating trios, or quartets? There's a thought…

But anyway. Even I fell into that trap. A loves B and B loves A, but what if B develops a passion for C? Well, too bad, there's no room for C. Two's company, three's a crowd. Either B would stay with A and C would have to fend for himself, or B would leave A for C. And this B was in no hurry to rock the boat because he didn't even know that C was interested.

Then C broke up with D and got drunk off his ass. B found out C wanted him, knew A wouldn't approve, but slept with C anyway. A found out and ran away, C thought everything was his fault and went and cried in the corner, B got freaked out and stamped around like a moron and everything was an unholy mess.

Then, when it seemed like it was too late to fix anything, B had his moment of revelation: Why did it have to be A and B _or_ B and C? Why not A _and_ B _and_ C?

Things just aren't done that way. But _why_?

The more I thought about it the more sense it made. It was just an idea that tortured me when I thought that Trowa was dead - a "what if" that could never be. But he returned, miraculously, alive if not well, and I had the second chance that I thought I had lost forever.

I love them both. I need them both. But I didn't know if they felt the same. I'm a little dense sometimes, but at a certain point even thick folks like me realize that everything isn't going to go their way just because they want it to.

But I got to thinking again.

I thought about my relationship with Trowa, and my recent realization that we hadn't been completely frank with each other.

We'd hid our pasts.

I'd hid my feelings for Heero.

What if Trowa had done the same?

I thought back and remembered some things, things so trivial I hadn't even noticed them when they happened, at least not consciously. But I guess that the back of my jealous, hypocritical little mind noticed, because when I started looking the memories were there.

A few looks exchanged between them.

A few looks from one of them to the other when the other wasn't looking.

A few strange reactions on Trowa's part to actions by or remarks about Heero, and vice versa.

Little things. They could be nothing. But something…something was telling me different.

Then, when I talked to Heero, I found out that, on that score at least, I was right.

Poor Heero. He's had enough trouble with the concept of loving one man, getting him to admit that he loves two is amazing. But he's been knocked so off balance by all of this that he can't really hide his emotions the way he's been accustomed to doing. He's seen his marriage fall apart, believed himself to be the cause of the break between me and Trowa, been part of all the misguided mayhem that has characterized this particular war…he just kind of broke down. He had to be honest - he just couldn't summon the defense mechanisms that allowed him to hide. I know that it's probably profoundly disturbing for him, but I'm glad it happened.

We're all so exasperating. You have to emotionally knock us down and pummel us around mercilessly before we can get past our issues long enough to have a freaking conversation.

Except Trowa. I don't know about that boy. He takes a licking and keeps on ticking.

But he had to hide. He had to build the walls and take shelter behind them or Barton would have destroyed him completely. There would be nothing left of him.

Since he returned, his walls have cracked. I would do anything to spare him suffering, but I almost think it's good that he believed me dead for a little while. I don't know if anything else could have damaged his shields any.

His defenses are definitely weakened. They went down the most, I think, when he thought I was dead. He told Heero a lot, he let him hold him…when he woke up and saw me he let me kiss him.

And he cried. I have never seen Trowa cry before in my life. Never. But Heero told me he cried when I was gone, I saw him cry when he found out I was alive, and he cried just a few minutes ago when he finally let me in, a little bit.

It's a little disturbing, how much weeping has been going on lately. If we ever get back to normal, I'm sure we'll all be thoroughly disgusted with ourselves. But…again, I think it was a long time coming. If you hold too much back, eventually it'll just explode. Odd how we all seemed to explode together.

I guess it's not too odd, though. We're all alike in so many ways, I guess it's reasonable that we all have similar tolerance levels. And the sight of one of us going over the emotional edge would be enough to send the rest of us over too.

Lemmings. We're a bunch of freaking lemmings.

Anyway. Trowa. He's finally broken down enough to admit he loves me, and wants to be with me.

But Heero. I said the name five minutes ago, and there's been five minutes of absolute silence. Neither of us knows how to broach the topic.

I think Trowa's still struggling with the idea of breaking Rule Number Two. I'm sure he feels a little jealously - wondering if it's because he's not enough.

I'm sure I'll feel the same if he accepts Heero. I felt it when Heero admitted his feelings for Trowa.

Damn Rule Number Two. It has poisoned our psyches.

But I only felt it for an instant. It was brief, instinctive, fleeting.

More worrisome is the thought that he won't entertain or admit feelings for Heero out of fear of being disloyal to me. That's what has kept me from admitting - even to myself - that I have wanted Heero for at least the past three or four years.

I'm sure, I just feel somehow that something is there. Like Heero said - how could one of us feel this way, or two of us, and not all three?

This is just…meant. We are all part of each other.

But will Trowa be able to allow himself to feel that?

I pull back and look down at him as he stirs in my light, loose embrace.

It's hard not to touch him. I want to - I want to run my hands all over him, my mouth…feel him, taste him, touch him…lose myself inside him and around him…be surrounded on all sides by him, ensure that he's real and alive and mine again…

Jeez, I've got to knock that off!

Think unsexy thoughts.

Une in a bikini.

Zechs in orange.

Relena in anything.

I know he's not ready for that, won't be for a long time. And I love him enough to wait, to be patient until he is.

That doesn't make it any easier, though.

"So…"

The famous Trowa Barton conversational lead. It can mean anything from, "I'm bored, entertain me," to "Get lost or I will shoot you." Most of the time, though, it means, "I want to talk, but I want _you_ to talk to _me_."

Sneaky bastard.

He's put the entire burden of the Heero Talk onto me.

"So, you read my letter, so you know how I feel." Good, Duo. Now you're dancing around the topic too. Maybe the whole issue can be decided without either of you ever saying the words directly.

"Yes."

Ah, that tone. The ‘utter-lack-of-intonation' tone. The ‘noone-can-figure-me-out-from-my-tone-of-voice-because-I'm-a-man-of-mystery' tone. My favorite.

"So, what do you think about it, Tro?"

Ha! Two can play at this game!

He, surprise, surprise, says nothing. After a few more minutes I glance down. He's sitting completely still, his entire body radiating tension. I can see that he's struggling to keep his expression neutral, but his confusion and fear are heartbreakingly evident.

Shit.

 _I'm_ the bastard. Again.

"Tro-chan…" This is so unfair of us, of me. He needs rest, and peace, and sleep. He's been hurt so badly, and is still trying to heal, and here I am throwing all of these momentous life decisions his way.

But I know him. If he has time to think about it too much, to ponder and analyze and dissect it, he'll rip it all apart and put it back together the wrong way, retreat into his damned shell and we'll never get him out.

But we need to stop skirting the issue.

I run my fingers through his hair, sliding my hand down to cup his cheek. I feel him stiffen even more, feel his flinch, see him try to move away. I don't react, though, pretend to not even notice. I know he needs time, and I'm not going to push him. But I'll be damned if I keep my distance, let him decide I'm too disgusted with him to touch him, and watch him become more and more and more aloof. Everything needs to begin somewhere.

"Trowa, you know that I love you." I stare into his eyes as I repeat this vow to him, letting him see the sincerity in mine. "I've told you it before, I told you just now. I swear. I will always love you, I need you, and I'll never let you go."

I take a deep breath. "But you read the letter. I…I love Heero too. And what I'm asking you is if you can feel what you feel for me toward him, too."

His eyes clench shut, and I see one of his hands ball into a fist. I plow on.

"I…I think you do, Tro. Maybe I'm just seeing what I want to see…But I've been thinking pretty hard about it. Lots of things that I didn't really notice when they were happening…thinking about them now, it seems…Am I wrong?"

Well, that has to win an award for the year's Least Smooth Moment of Truth. If he can figure that statement out he wins the kewpie doll.

I stare down at him. His eyes are still tightly closed, and he's trembling again. I think I hate that as much as seeing him cry. In the years we've been together, the only times I've ever seen him do that have been immediately after he's woken up from a nightmare. I know that those subtle tremors betoken loss of control, and I know that he hates that. I ache for him whenever I see it.

Suddenly, his eyes open and now _I_ feel like trembling. God, this is harder than I thought. I wanted to break down his shields, lower his defenses, gain access to the hurt and pain and feeling inside him.

Well, I got my wish. The anguish and torment roiling inside those green eyes triggers an actual physical pain in my chest. I want to hug him, hold him, promise him everything is going to be all right.

But I can't. I have to help him work through his pain, _make_ him work through it, before either of us can find what's waiting for us at the other end.

"Duo…I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice so low I can barely hear him.

"For what, Trowa?" I ask gently. "You don't have to be sorry for anything, not with me. What's wrong?"

He closes his eyes again, shaking his head. "I…" He grimaces, obviously trying to retain the tenuous grasp he has on his control. "I never meant to make you think that I didn't want to be with you."

In one of the many lit classes I took at the various schools we were stuck at through the years, I once read a story about a guy who had three wishes. I don't remember the title or author, but the premise was that people shouldn't muck around with fate, so their wishes - attempts to alter their fate - were granted, but in a way that brought them disaster rather than happiness. For example, the guy wished for some money, then his son got killed and he got the insurance. That kind of thing.

Sometimes, when I'm trying to talk to Trowa, I feel like that guy. Whatever I say, he interprets as me saying that he's been bad, or inadequate, or hurt me in some way.

It's very tiring.

"Trowa…I never thought that," I tell him patiently. "I told you, at the time I didn't even think anything of it. Then recently…Recently I thought that maybe, hopefully, you felt the same way I did. That you love me, and Heero too."

He shakes his head stubbornly. "It…can't be that way," he insists faintly. "That's not how…"

"Says who?" I demand. "The same people who say guys shouldn't be together? The ones who say Heero and Relena are meant for each other?"

He smiles faintly.

I take his hand, tracing my thumb over his palm, ignoring the nervous shiver that runs through him. "Tro-chan, as far as I see it, we've always made our own way, our own rules," I say. Suddenly, I feel utterly exhausted. "We've never been like other people. Their ways don't fit us. We spent most of our lives doing what they say is wrong to make things right for them." I shrug. "Maybe now we should be doing what they say is wrong to make things right for _us_."

He looks down. He's not arguing. That's a positive sign. He's processing. Sometimes he's so logical it makes me sick, but sometimes it's a bonus. He has to consider the idea before he rejects it out of hand. Gives me some time to press my advantage.

"If you don't want to pursue this because you're not interested in Heero, that's one thing," I concede. "But if you're afraid it means that…that you're not enough for me, or that you would be being disloyal to me by loving Heero…that's not true. It's just not true, Tro, so it shouldn't be a consideration."

His head snaps up and he stares at me, and again, amazingly, his emotions are there are raw and plain to see. Seems like in voicing my own worries, I found his.

Lemmings. I said it before, I'll say it again. But at least they all get to fly off that cliff to their furry destruction together. What more do you need, really?

"Duo….God." He makes a sound of frustration and confusion, and breaks my grip to bring both of his hands to his head, cradling it as though it hurts.

"I don't know…what the hell is going on," he manages, his voice muffled by his hands.

I can't help but chuckle. "Now you sound like Heero," I tell him ruefully.

At that auspicious moment, when everything is out on the table and nothing is resolved, five sharp, staccato raps sound at the door.

This is either perfect timing or completely, utterly awful timing.

I'll let you know in an hour.

"Speak of the devil," I murmur. "That's Heero," I tell him gently. "Can he come in?"

He stares at me blankly, his mouth opening and closing but no sound coming out. I'll take that as a yes.

"Come in!" I yell.

The door opens slowly, and we both turn our heads to stare at our newest arrival. Heero Yuy, proud, brave, confident hero of the Gundam wars, is dithering nervously in the doorway. It looks like he's ready to bolt. Any second now he's going to start wringing his hands.

That's unsettling.

"Come in," I repeat, motioning with my hand.

He closes the door slowly, and moves toward the bed. He stops a few feet away.

"Come here," I urge, moving over on the bed, ignoring Trowa's scramble to move his legs before I can touch them. He bends them up towards his chest, and that must hurt, but whatever. I'm not fussing over that. You need to choose your battles.

Heero hesitates, staring at the spot I just vacated and am now indicating he sit in. He looks at me, and I nod encouragingly. He looks at Trowa, who is staring with apparent fascination at the hem of his sheet.

I sigh, and pat the spot on the bed more firmly.

Apprehensively, leaving one leg dangling over the edge to ensure a rapid escape route, Heero lowers himself into the spot.

Geez, I don't know why I'm doing this to myself. I wonder if I'll have to coax them into sitting near each other for the foreseeable future. It'll make sitting down to dinner a very time-consuming process. I'll probably have to lure them into their chairs with dinner rolls, bait them with hors d'oeuvres…

The thought of Heero crouching nervously on the floor, peering suspiciously through the spindles of a chair as I wave a cocktail frank on a toothpick at him almost makes me burst out into wild, entirely inappropriate laughter. But it also relaxes me. Suddenly, I can see the situation for what it is - an attempt by three people who love each other - which I know we all do - to figure out how to express that to each other.

We're all so silly sometimes.

But before I can share my wisdom and start on my speech about everyone loving one another, Heero speaks.

"I'm sorry if I've upset you," he says. His voice is harsh, abrupt. "I never meant to cause problems." Trowa looks up at him but Heero isn't looking back. His head is bowed and he seems to be speaking to one of the buttons on his shirt. "I told you before, I've always been…jealous…of you and Duo, because you each had…each other." His voice isn't so hard anymore, now it's softened and almost forlorn. "I wanted to be part of that. I wanted to be with you…with both of you. But I don't want you to throw it away, Trowa, just because…" He swallows hard, and looks up, "Just because you don't want me."

His tone is lost, harrowingly sad and resigned to rejection, but it isn't that that freezes me, makes me stare at him unable to move or speak. All this time I was worried about lowering the barriers surrounding Trowa, thinking Heero's were down. They weren't, they weren't at all, but they are now. For the first time in my life, I am looking at the real Heero Yuy, no masks, no shields, just…him. His eyes are the deepest blue in the world; his features have given up trying to school themselves in an acceptable expression and are broadcasting his uncertainty to anyone who looks at him. Vulnerability is written all over his face, and he is so achingly beautiful he literally stops my breath.

I'm not the only one affected. Through my paralysis I see Trowa move, seemingly without volition, reaching a hand out to hover uncertainly in front of Heero.

Everything slows; time seems to stop. We reach turning points all the time, make decisions that change the course of our destinies. But it has never before been so apparent that I - that we - are at a crossroads. The next moment, the next second, determines the path we will travel - together, or separately.

Through the crystalline moment, I hear Trowa's voice.

"Heero, no…" he whispers. "I…I do…want…you."

Time snaps back into motion with an almost palpable jerk, and Heero and I are staring at Trowa with identical expression of open-mouthed astonishment. He looks pretty surprised too.

For once in my life, I'm speechless. I know I should say something - someone needs to say something to cement this, nail it down, before it slips away and is gone and we're left with nothing again. But for the life of me, I can't seem to say anything.

Trowa's eyes move from my face to Heero's and back again. And suddenly, in a gesture as amazing as anything else that has happened here, his lips curve upward. He's smiling. At us.

And it's a smile so sweet, so…innocent, so full of promise and hope that it makes my eyes tear up just looking at it. I grasp Heero's hand and, unheeding of possible consequences, lean forward until I'm resting my head on Trowa's chest, snuggling against him. I pull Heero down with me until he too is resting against Trowa. Trowa stiffens briefly, but slowly relaxes, and I shiver with relief when I feel the light, hesitant touch of his arm around me, and look over to see his other arm resting equally gingerly on Heero.

I close my eyes, savoring the closeness. There's a lot that has to be worked out, suffered through, dealt with. Most of it is ugly, and will be hurtful to face. But for now…we're together.

I close my eyes, feeling completely relaxed and free for the first time in months…or years…or ever. Yeah, there's still stuff to be worked out…but it'll happen. It'll be all right.

We've made it through, made it past the part of the story that begins with "Once upon a time...," made ith through the conflict and climax... That part is over. It's ended.

And now we're to the good part. The part that comes after the "...happily ever after."

The beginning.


	22. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> by Shoori

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from Dacia, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [A Little Piece of Gundam Wing](https://fanlore.org/wiki/A_Little_Piece_Of_Gundam_Wing), which closed in 2017. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after July 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [a little piece of gundam wing collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/alittlepieceofgundamwing/profile).

I’m jarred into alertness by the sound of Duo’s voice. He’s whispering, but I’m a light sleeper.

"Wha’sa’matter?" That’s Trowa. He’s generally a light sleeper too, but it sounds like he’s having a little trouble waking up.

Duo whispers again, and Trowa groans. "Duo, it’s six a.m.," he protests softly. "There’ll be plenty of time for…"

Duo interrupts with a hiss, and Trowa sighs loudly. Duo shushes him. Trowa continues grumbling, but more softly, and I feel the bed move as their weights are lifted from it.

The door to the bedroom closes softly behind them and I allow the smile I had to hide while I was pretending to be asleep spread across my face as I open my eyes, staring at the dimly visible ceiling.

I’m still not completely used to sleeping with them. Not that I dislike it - it just still surprises me every night when they lay down next to me, and everyone morning I’m amazed to wake up and find them with me.

It’s not a shock or anything, just a pleasant surprise, every day.

I stretch, lacing my fingers together and resting them behind my head as I contemplate the events of the past year. It’s the kind of day for reflecting.

There’s been a lot of changes.

Another war, after such a prolonged period of peace, really shook a lot of people up. There’s been a lot of increased focus on organizations like the Preventers, with the whole world clamoring to shore them up and be sure we’re never blindsided like that again. From the few terse, densely coded messages we’ve received, we’ve gathered that a lot of Preventer control - even the ceremonial control - is being wrested away from the Sanc Kingdom.

Glad I’m not there.

I wonder idly how much actual progress toward the proposed changes has been made. Probably not much. Bureaucracy moves at a snail’s pace, and the ten months since the end of the war has probably given them barely enough time to form committees to investigate the process of looking into making changes.

Still glad I’m not there.

Actually, though, I’m not totally sure exactly where I am.

After the war ended, and Trowa and Duo and I finally came together - an event that still awes me - the doctors were amazed by Trowa’s progress. He was ready for skin grafts in less than a month, and ready to travel only weeks after that.

Since then, we’ve all been living off of Quatre.

I refused when he first made the offer. So did Trowa. I mean, Quatre has tons of money, but we didn’t want him supporting us. It seemed wrong, somehow.

Then Duo pulled us aside and pointed out a few things.

One, I was probably _persona non grata_ around the Sanc Kingdom right about then, so trying to return to my Preventers position there while the whole force was in the middle of a massive reconstruction probably wasn’t that good an idea.

Two, despite his amazing progress, Trowa wasn’t going to be swinging from any trapezes any time soon.

Three, he, Duo, was kind of ‘between jobs’ at the moment.

Four, even though we were broke, Quatre wasn’t, and we’d all just been through this whole trying experience realizing how important we were to each other, so didn’t we think it would be just a little bit assy to refuse Quatre’s help when he offered it?

And Five - which was the clincher - didn’t we also think it would be nice to have a little time to rest and recoup - by ourselves?

After that, Trowa and I realized…hell, Quatre has a ton of money. We’d share it with him if the situation were reversed…what the heck.

So, for the last eight months or so, the three of us have been staying in a gorgeous house on a small island somewhere on a very warm, sunny part of Earth. There’s our house, and ten miles away on the other side of the island there’s a small village where we go occasionally to replenish our provisions. Quatre gave us a huge chunk of cash (which we’ve barely even begun to eat into) so that there would be no electronic record of monetary transfers to us, smuggled us on-planet and shipped us to this island by the most circuitous of means. I personally thought he was getting a little carried away, and that he’d read too many of the mystery thrillers that Trowa devours, but his elaborate methods seem to have worked. We haven’t been disturbed at all.

And it’s been wonderful. I mean, it hasn’t all been moonlight and roses. Sure we’ve had great times…days spent on the beach, long, quiet dinners, nights together…But they were a long time in coming. Right from the time we moved into the house, Duo insisted that we all share the huge bed Quatre had thoughtfully provided. Noone had to do anything, he was quick to establish, but we needed to be together. Needless to say, Trowa spent his nights hugging the outer edge of the mattress and for months, we woke every night to him screaming and thrashing in the throes of a nightmare. We’d spend hours soothing him until he finally dropped back off from exhaustion, only to have the cycle repeated two or three hours later.

But despite our chronic exhaustion, Duo had plans for us, and I’ve discovered that Duo with a plan is a hard thing to cross. After initiating his bed-sharing program, he declared that we all had to set ourselves into patterns of open, healthy communication. There couldn’t be any hiding things from each other. We had to be open, and share. So, every day, each of us has to ‘communicate’ something we don’t like to talk about to the others. It made Trowa really angry for a long time - he’d try to refuse, accuse Duo of being polluted by women’s magazines…but Duo was implacable. Gradually, we all began to share the accumulated pain of a lifetime with each other. I’ve heard things I don’t really like knowing…but that I needed to know. There’s still some things hidden, some things we haven’t discussed - Trowa still refuses to so much as mention Barton’s name - but we’ve made progress. We’ve built - and are building - trust. That isn’t something that is completed in a month or eight months or a year, not with so guarded a group as we, but it’s growing.

Maybe we’ve already managed to establish more than I give us credit for, though. After all, we now do more than sleep in the same bed. I don’t know how long I thought it would take for Trowa to allow us physical intimacies, but I was surprised when a few months after we got here he slowly began to relax with us, letting Duo wrap his arm around him, holding our hands when we walk on the beach, resting his head on my chest as we lay on the sand beside a driftwood fire at night. That progressed to more - touching, kisses, caresses…And almost two months ago, the three of us made love for the first time.

I grin at the ceiling. And we haven’t stopped since.

Ok, so everything’s not perfect. None of us like our daily confessional much. It still makes us edgy. Trowa is still very self-conscious about his back; though Duo says it looks a thousand times better there are still a few bumps and ridges and scars from lashes that went particularly deep. He still wears a T-shirt at all times, even on the beach, but that might have as much to do with his tendency to get sunburned as anything else. I just darken, Duo has turned a beautiful golden brown, but if Trowa forgets to put on what Duo calls his SPF 9000, he pinkens in ten minutes, reddens in twenty and burns to a crisp within a half hour. Anyway, he doesn’t like to have his back exposed and doesn’t like to be touched on it, though he won’t pull away from us if we do, which Duo tells me is amazing progress.

No, it’s not perfect. But it’s damn close. I have never been so relaxed in my life. I know they feel the same way. They smile - both of them - all the time. And they’re true smiles - you see them in their eyes, not just on their lips. We’re always together…laughing, talking, touching…

I grin again, hearing the noise drifting up the stairs even through the closed door. There’s a crashing of metal, Duo’s voice is raised in protest, and then there’s an ominous silence. Even as the world struggles to find ways to preserve their peace, I am finally at rest. I have found mine.

I hear their footsteps on the stairs, and I hastily lower my arms and close my eyes, feigning sleep again.

The door opens quietly. There’s no sound. Then Duo whispers, "He’s still asleep? Do you think we should wake him up?"

"He’s awake. He’s been awake since we got out of the bed," Trowa says in his normal tone. I grin, opening my eyes, to see him smirking at me. Duo is holding a tray, on which I see a vase with a single rose, a white…paper towel…a glass…and a plate holding something I can’t quite identify, with a small blue candle in it.

"Happy birthday, Heero," he says quietly, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he grins at me.

"We’re supposed to sing it," Duo hisses at him from the corner of his mouth.

Trowa grins at him, then turns and moves toward me. He seats himself on the bed, his back against the headboard, and motions to me. Grinning, I move to lean against him, my back against his chest, his legs on either side of me. He bends one leg toward his chest, bracing his foot on the mattress, and I rest my elbow on his raised knee. His arms slide around my waist and I feel his lips on the side of my neck. "Happy birthday," he whispers again.

I turn my head to smile at him, and catch sight of Duo, grinning smugly at us. I raise an eyebrow at him and he hurries to join us, making sure to balance the tray while inserting himself carefully into the small huddle made by my and Trowa’s bodies.

"Now we sing!" he announces cheerfully.

I almost laugh at the contents of the tray. There’s the rose, the towel, a glass of orange juice…and a bagel with the merrily burning blue birthday candle stuck in it, dripping wax on the cream cheese.

"We tried to make you an omelet, but _someone_ forgot to turn the heat down," Trowa tells me, the amusement in his voice taking the heat out of the veiled insult.

Duo loftily ignores us both and starts to sing, Trowa resignedly joining in.

I try to swallow past the lump in my throat as I stare at that little candle, their voices ringing in my ears. I feel Trowa’s arms around me, Duo’s pliant form in my arms…I feel warm and content and happier than I ever have been.

Trowa’s even alto never wavers, but Duo’s mock falsetto warbles all over the scale for the last few notes.

"…dear Heero,

Happy Birthday to you!"

I love that song.

~Owari~


End file.
